Take My Hand
by Exia
Summary: OotP SLASH Living a life bound to your second-worst enemy ever was not the life Harry would have chosen, but apparently, Fate did. Now he must deal with the consequences when everything goes belly-up. HP/DM HG/? You thought I'd tell...
1. A Sspecial Friend

Take My Hand 

Chapter 1: A Sspecial Friend

Disclamer: While this is a general re-write of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and there will be many similarities, I do not intend to use the same phrasing or to in any way plagiarize the work of J.K. Rowling. Neither is any money being derived from this fiction, nor will there ever be. Future installments will contain lines, duly noted, from OOTP and J. K. Rowling will get all credit for them. If there are any sections of this work that contains the same wording as the author's books, and she is not given credit, it is purely coincidental and not meant to steal.

That said, on with the show

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"Boy! You, Boy! Wake your lazy ass up! We don't let you live in this house and eat our food so you can laze about all day! Get up!" Uncle Vernon's booming voice reverberated up the stairs, down the hallway (where the non-moving pictures rattled on the wall), and through the tiny cat-flap to bounce fretfully around the small room across the hall from the bath. An owl sleeping in its cage gave an undignified squawk of protest. It wished to return to peaceful dreams of clear nights full of large, slow-moving mice, and packages swiftly delivered.

The voice, however, did not find the boy it was searching for in the room. Nor was the boy to be found in the hallway, or on the stairwell. In fact, the boy, whose name happened to be Harry Potter, was actually standing behind Uncle Vernon, with sweat drying on his shirt. Uncle Vernon swelled like a balloon as he gathered air for another try. "BOY!!"

"Yes?"

The crisp answer coming from behind him caused Uncle Vernon to deflate in surprise, all his hard-earned air flew right past his vocal cords without pausing to ask for directions.

Uncle Vernon had turned in shock at seeing his nephew up and awake at 6:00 in the morning. Inflating once more, he started in on the skinny boy. "How dare you?! Where have you been?! You went running again didn't you! I told you to stay off those ruddy streets, somebody might see you or those bloody owls! I'll not have you smearing our good name with your…your…" Uncle Vernon's voice dropped down an octave and his eyes shifted about warily. "…Strangeness. Now go see Aunt Petunia and mind you keep a civil tongue in your head. We feed you and cloth you and give you a place to stay and I'll have none of your lip about the work

we ask you to do."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry said wearily trudging past him towards the kitchen where smells of frying bacon and rising biscuits made his mouth water. Turning the corner, he was confronted with a horsy-faced woman with too much neck and a high-pitched voice.

"Where have you been boy? There's work to do, and I'll not have you lolly-gagging around. Now finish up breakfast, and mind you don't burn the bacon! I'll not have you harming my Ickle Diddykins with your horrible cooking this morning, he's got important people to see today. Isn't that right Popkin?" Petunia's voice instantly changed from hoarse and grating to simpering and sweet as her lumbering son clumped his way down the stairwell.

"That's right Mum," Dudley replied plastering a smile on his face. "The Hutchensons wanted to meet with me during tea time to discuss my chances of moving on to being a professional. "

Dudley had taken up boxing at his school and his parents where overwhelmingly proud of their prodigious son. None of the neighborhood children, or Harry for that matter, was thrilled with this turn of events. Dudley had always been a big bully and the fact that he could hit things harder was not a cause to celebrate.

Dudley had always done his best to make Harry's life as difficult as possible. He had even gone so far as to play a game of Harry-tag where him and his cronies chased Harry about and beat him up when they caught him.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon however, were blind to such things from their son. Not that it would have bothered them to know that he was beating up on Harry anyway. Dudley had, for the great part of his life, been a fat round porker who's only thought in life was what he could get out of his parents, and how much he could eat. As he got older and moved into middle school, his attention had shifted to drugs and alcohol. Harry had been witness to frequent acts of vandalism by his oversized cousin and had more than once seen Dudley and his 'boys' smoking pot in the park with empty beer bottles littered around their sprawled bodies.

During these times, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always thought that their son was 'having tea' with one of his friends or a respected adult. They were so proud of their son for being so 'responsible and grown up'. Harry had a hard time most days simply keeping his face straight. Oh, how he would love to set the Dursley's right, but Harry couldn't afford such things. The last time he'd said anything about where Dudley was_ really_ going, he had been locked in his room for a week; he'd only been let out once a day to go to the rest room and food had been shoved through the cat-flap set in the bottom portion of the door. No, Harry had learned his lesson, and he kept his mouth shut.

"That's my boy!" Aunt Petunia cried, bursting into tears and enveloping her son in a wet embrace. The two of them retreated from the kitchen and Harry turned wearily towards the simmering stove.

He really knew he shouldn't have come back so late, truly he did, the sunrise was just so beautiful, and it had captivated his attention until it was far to late. Harry usually was up far earlier than anyone else in the house, having woken up from one of his numerous nightmares. They almost weren't worth mentioning anymore, except perhaps to note which ones were the most frequent. Cedric's death was high on his list of nightmares at the present moment, but that could easily change to one of the other half dozen things that plagued him.

He gave a philosophical shrug as he cracked some eggs into a pan. Beyond terrifying him at night, Harry really didn't think too much of his nightmares, he'd had them with horrifying regularity for the past four years and was getting rather good at crying silently at night. Harry gritted his teeth. Well, he was good at crying silently _now_. Since, at 15, he was still underage, Harry wasn't allowed to do magic at the Dursley's, which had forced him to curb his habit of putting a silencing charm on his bed. He still shuddered to remember what those first few weeks had been like with Dudley tormenting him every morning about what Harry had said in his sleep the night before.

Even now Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would glance at him sideways and try to trip him into answering one of their questions about Cedric. He'd called out one too many times, trying to deny Cedric's death, and his _family_ (even in his mind, Harry sneered the word) was desperate to know if they had a queer on their hands. It was bad enough that Harry had inherited his mother and father's strangeness with his magic, but he might 'like' boys also! It was all just too much. Understanding their intentions, Harry had kept stubbornly quiet about the whole thing. After all, if they were allowed to torture him, he was going to return the favor. _He_ knew he liked girls, but he just didn't see how it was any of their business.

Harry turned down the heat on the eggs and bacon, and popped a few pieces of bread into the toaster as he reached across the countertop for a mitten. Removing the biscuits from the oven, he carefully slid them onto a plate with the scrambled eggs and bacon, and reached for the toast just as it popped up. Quickly slathering generous amounts of butter on each slice, he deftly cut each one into halves diagonally before arranging them on the plate with the biscuits, eggs and bacon. It was all done with practiced ease and was, quite frankly, a dance he could have done in his sleep; a fact, which had been proven one day when he had awoken to the sharp crack of Aunt Petunia's bony hand across Harry's even bonier face. He had been standing in one spot with his 'vacant look' on his face staring at the Dursley's eat while his mind roamed in the realm of dreams.

Giving another philosophical shrug, Harry turned, plate in hand, and entered the dining room where the Dursley's were waiting at the table, sour looks on his Aunt and Uncle's face, and one of triumph on his cousin's.

"Now boy," Vernon said, grabbing a biscuit and taking a large bite out of it. "We've been entirely too lenient with you this summer, and you are going to start earning your keep around here. The flowerbeds around the house need weeding and fertilizing, Petunia will show you where it is after breakfast. Be sure that you get each and every weed, I'll not have this house looking like a bunch of hooligans lived here."

"And," Aunt Petunia sniffed, "The back fence needs painting, there's some paint in the shed. Mind, you, that you cover the whole thing, we needn't have our back fence come out spotty because of your incompetence."

Harry just nodded, he knew better than to argue. If only he could use magic…but no. He'd have to put up with them for a while longer. Just another year, then he'd be sixteen and able to make his own decisions.

He turned and trudged into the kitchen again, his mind wandering off without him to contemplate the ironies that made up his life as he mechanically washed and then dried the morning dishes before grabbing his allotted breakfast: stale bread, a lump of hard cheese and a glass of water. They'd been too lenient with him this summer? How could Uncle Vernon even _say_ such a thing? Harry was the only one who even did any sort of housework _ever._ He slaved away each and every day while his Aunt gossiped over the fence and his Uncle worked. He snorted. Too bad his 'work' involved endless games of golf with the local contracting company. And whenever they had people over for dinner Harry had to stay in his room silent and pretend he didn't exist. Harry grimaced as a particularly hard piece of cheese stuck for a moment. At least he could eat as much of the bread and cheese as he wanted, though who would _want_ to eat much of the stuff was beyond him.

Gagging the last of the bread down, Harry re-entered the dining room and cleared off the table, washing and drying those dishes too before putting the lot of them away and venturing outside to weed the flowerbeds while there was still dew on the grass. He hoped to finish before the day got truly hot, so that he could paint the fence in the relative shade of the back yard during the heat of the day.

Plopping down listlessly on the grass, Harry reached for the weeds. He was in process of trying to unearth a particularly stubborn one when he heard a horrific shriek coming from somewhere to his left. Whipping his head around he saw his Aunt Petunia jumping up and down on her right foot as she stabbed ineffectually downward with the toe of her left. Curious, Harry rolled to his feet and strode over, his eyes trained on the ground to spot whatever it was she was trying to kill.

A baby snake, no longer than his hand, was sprawled out on the slowly warming concrete of their front walk, remarkably unscathed for the wild motions Aunt Petunia was making. She had the air of a person who desperately wanted some small disgusting thing dead, but was too disgusted by it to actually bring themselves to touch it long enough to kill it, even if it was with something as impersonal as a shoe.

"_Sshit."_

Harry blinked. Surely not--?

"_Sshit, Sshit."_

Harry laughed aloud. It had been so long since he'd heard it, he'd almost forgotten that he had one of the rare magical abilities of Parseltounge, that is, the ability to talk to snakes. Wouldn't Aunt Petunia just be terrified to know--? Harry stopped short, eyes widening at the possibilities.

"_I'll die before I've lived, Mother wass right."_

He grinned his mind made up. Pushing his still shrieking Aunt aside, Harry squatted down next to the baby snake.

"_Ssome help little brother?"_ He inquired.

"_What iss this? You can sspeak to me?"_ The little reptile seemed surprised.

"_Indeed, I can. I am a wizard, would you like ssome assisstance?"_

"_If you would not mind, I am afraid of being trampled. There wass jusst a female human here who wisshed to kill me. I cannot blame her though, I am fearssome."_ The snake sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Harry chuckled. _"I would be honored to help you little brother. What do you require?"_

"_A ssafe place to sstay that iss alsso warm. I wass caught in the open lasst dark and was unable to move when thingss became too cold."_

"_Indeed, wh-"_ Harry found himself cut off as his Aunt shrieked again.

"What are you doing? Get away from that snake! It's poisonous! Don't you recognize it? That's an adder! The only poisonus snake on the whole British Isles!" Petunia squawked frantically and waved her hands about, reminding Harry strongly of a plucked chicken.

"I know that Aunt. Don't worry. I'll take care of him." Harry smirked, knowing just how he would care for the little reptile.

"_Would you like to come with me for a time?"_ He hissed a little two loudly, ensuring that his Aunt would hear him. _"I could keep you warm for a while until you felt sstrong enough to travel on your own."_

The snake was silent for a while, and Harry worried that the little creature would turn him down. _"Many thankss to you wizard. I will take you up on your offer."_

Harry bobbed his head in acknowledgement, despite the fact that it probably couldn't see him. _"Here,"_ He said to it, reaching down, _"I will carry you to ssafety, have no fear."_ So saying, he gently placed his fingers on either side of the snake's slender body and picked it up, cradling it in his hands. Bringing his cupped fingers to his face, he gently blew a gust of warm air over the reptile's cold body, trying to warm him up. _"You are so cold little brother."_

"_Yess._" The snake said, _"It wass a cold night."_

Harry turned to find that his Aunt had been joined by his Uncle and that both of them were staring at him with a mixture of anger and fear.

"What are you doing?" His Uncle hissed at him under his breath, reminiscent of the little snake cupped in Harry's hands.

"What does it look like?" Harry replied coolly. "I am taking care of this little snake."

"Put it down this instant!" Petunia shrieked. "It could bite you!"

Harry was confused. When had his Aunt or Uncle ever truly given a damn about his health?

"What would the neighbors say if you got bit?"

Ah, that answered his question.

"Nothing at all, after all, I'm 'That Potter boy.' who cares what happens to me? I'm only fit for St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys anyway."

"You put it down right this instant!" Uncle Vernon roared, striding towards Harry. "We're going to kill it right now!"

"_Hold on."_ Harry told the little adder. _"Thingss could get a little unssteady."_

"_Hold on?"_

Before Harry could clarify, his uncle roughly seized him by his upper arm and shook him. "Now see here boy, you'll do as we tell you."

Jerking his arm from his Uncle's grip, Harry stepped back, replying, "I don't think so Uncle. All you do is work me to the bone and then starve me. I have no desire to allow you to kill an innocent creature just because it doesn't fit in with your definition of what the world should be. Heaven knows that you'd have killed me by now if you thought you could get away with it." Seeing his Uncle's face turning an alarming shade of purple, Harry decided it was wise to depart before the explosion occurred. Turning on his heels, he dashed off, hardly knowing where he was headed; only knowing where he was headed away _from_.

"_That'ss it, that'ss it. I've had it with thosse people. They have no more compassion for the resst of humanity than a tiger doess for his prey. No, thatss wrong, at leasst the tiger appreciatess the ssacrifice made by the deer sso that the tiger could live. Thosse people are nothing but sselfissh hypocritess who think only for their own sselfissh dessiress."_

"_Then perhapss you sshould leave."_ Harry started at the sound, he feet slowing from a run to a slow walk.

"Wha--?" Then he remembered the baby adder in his hands. Looking down, he inspected the little creature. It was tiny, no longer than his hand and as slim as a pencil, with large black eyes that continually stared. It's scales looked delicate, even fragile, and they were silky smooth where they rested on his skin. With the tip of one finger, Harry traced the zig-zag pattern of brown that ran the length of the snake's spine, and was rewarded with a remarkable purr.

"_Oh, I like that. Do that again."_ It dropped its head onto Harry's palm and slowly flicked its tongue in and out of its mouth at a leisurely pace.

Harry grinned and did it again, this time adding a little pressure and was rewarded again with a purr.

"_You are beautiful."_ He told it, and it was true. Despite it's tiny stature, there was an elegance to its' movements that Harry was envious of. It's slited eyes were the color of polished amber and it's body was the muted shades of brown found in deep leaf litter, save for the jagged pattern of dark brown that traced it's way down the adder's spine.

"_What iss your name?_"

"_Name?"_

"_Yess, your name. What do other ssnakes call you when you are all together?"_

"_Oh, you sspeak of a Calling. I am not old enough yet to have been given a Calling. Even if I wass, few of uss are worthy of ssuch honors. We are only given Calling'ss if we do ssomething that ssetss uss apart from otherss."_ It paused. _"I probably will never be given a Calling. I am too foolissh a ssnake to do ssomething grand enough."_

"_I don't believe that. After all, you've managed to find yoursself one of the few wizardss left that sspeak parseltounge."_ Harry resumed walking and set his feet towards the park. Perhaps there he could find himself a place to release the snake in safety. _"Ssurely that musst count for ssomething."_

The snake seemed doubtful. _"Perhapss. Ssomeday."_

Harry shrugged and continued walking. He had more important things to worry about than a snake with low self-esteem.

What was he going to do about the Dursley's? Harry knew that he would be in a load of trouble when he went back. Even if they hated him, the Dursley's weren't above having him around for free labor. Harry shuddered to think the things he had been required to do for them over the years.

To be honest, cooking and cleaning wasn't really that hard, neither was the weeding and the painting. Truly, none of the things they had Harry do were terrible in small doses, or individually. It was when you added up all of the little things that life got unbearable.

Every night Harry would awaken from his nightmare drenched in a cold sweat. Shaking from his latest night-time terror. Cedric's death had been weighing heavily on his mind for the past two months and each night he would wake to find a denial on the end of his tongue crying to be set free. And each night Harry would

restrain himself, slide out of bed and into a pair of jeans before slipping out of the house to pour out his grief onto the asphalt.

The rhythmic pounding of his worn sneakers on the blacktop would empty his mind of thoughts, and he soon began to crave the solace and quiet of his nighttime wanderings. Sometimes he only jogged, gazing up at the starry sky above or at the trees as he traveled through the forest. Sometimes he walked, listening for the shrieks of the bats above and the scurrying of the mice below. Once he even startled a deer.

But most nights he ran.

His head down and his hands fisted where they pumped at his sides, he would run. Harry would run until the blacktop ended and the forest began. Until his lunges ached and his calves cried out for release. Until his world narrowed to that next step, just that next step. Picking a treacherous rout through the forest so that he

would have to watch carefully or he would break a leg, Harry would run his body till it was exhausted seeking to outrun his nightmares as well.

Harry had found that, if he concentrated, the sound of his feet on the earth and the movement of his body would put him in a near trance, allowing his mind the quiet he it so desperately needed, and did not receive while he was asleep. As his sleeping hours grew shorter and his nighttime truants grew longer, he discovered that the exercise was having an effect on his body as well as his mind. Having never been fat in the first place, Harry's running had burned off what little he'd had and had reduced him to the bare muscles that clung to his frame. When his body did not receive enough calories for him to put on muscle, it settled for making the muscles he had count all the more. Though wry and slim, Harry had discovered a quick strength to his movements that he had not possessed previously, as well as a strange sort of grace.

But none of this truly kept his nightmares at bay. Oh, it was true; the running soothed him, as nothing before or since did. But Harry was honest enough about himself and his mind to acknowledge the fact that running, for him, was escapism. No matter how fast, or how far he ran, he could not escape one simple truth:

Cedric had died because of him.

Harry was a wizard, one of many in a world that did not even believe in magic. He should have done something to save Cedric. Once every five years the wizarding world would hold a competition known as the Tri-Wizard tournament, and Cedric and Harry had been a part of it. One student from each of the wizarding schools was selected by an impartial judge to represent their school in the tournament. Because of a high mortality rate, it had been called off for the past century, but last year it was re-instated, as a friendly way of opening relations between the schools once more. And it had been held at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts.

Home.

Number four Privet Drive would never be home to Harry. Number four where he was resented for existing, where his Aunt, Uncle and Cousin did everything they could to keep him down and broken. Until he was eleven years old he lived in the little cupboard under the stairwell with only spiders as company. Until he was eleven years old he lived with the lie that his parents had died in a car crash. Lies that his mother and father were people to be despised and sneered at instead of the people they truly were; Heroes.

Harry's mother and father, Lily and James Potter were heroes who had given their lives to stand against _the_ most evil wizard of the times, Lord Voldemort. The same Lord Voldemort who had tried to kill Harry when he was one year old and who, inexplicably, had failed.

Harry frowned. No one knew _how_ he had survived, or why. In the wizarding world, Harry was known as the Boy-Who-Lived, but at number four, Harry was the skinny, strange, stupid son of Aunt Petunia's stupid, strange, and useless sister. _Unnatural_, is what they called her, and by association, him. _Unclean._

Harry's lip curled as he turned into the shade of the forest just as the sun's rays began to make the air dance above the concrete. No, Number Four Privet Drive would never be home to Harry. Hogwarts was home.

Hogwarts was where he went to classes with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Hogwarts was where he was something more than a useless slip of a boy. Hogwarts was where he was given food to eat that wasn't stale or moldy, where the rooms were warm, and where he was judged by what he did, not just who his parents were.

Harry's thoughts flashed to a certain teacher of his. Well, mostly judged by his actions. Snape, the potions master, had gone to the school with Harry's mother and father and had always hated Harry because of that. James Potter had been a schoolyard bully, and though he had grown out of such tendencies by the time Harry was born, Severus Snape, a long time victim, found it hard to forgive a dead man. From the first day of school, Snape had done his utmost to make Harry's life a living hell with cutting remarks and detentions. If he could not lash out at James, then he could damn well hit his son. Harry just didn't trust the man; he was a Death Eater.

Death Eaters were the lieutenants of Lord Voldemort, powerful men and women who though nothing of torturing and killing in the name of their Lord. Many good witches and wizards had fallen to Voldemort's minions in his reign of terror 14 years ago; until the Boy-Who-Lived stopped him and made him vanish off the face of the planet. Peace had returned momentarily to the world, and many Death Eaters were hunted down and sent to Azkaban, the wizard prison. Still, Voldemort wasn't dead, not by a long shot.

That had been proven last year when Cedric was killed. A small slice of pain tore into Harry. Cedric had been a good boy, and he had been killed because of Harry's pride. When the Tri-Wizard Tournament had been held at Hogwarts the previous year, Harry had been (and still was) too young to enter into the competition. But that didn't really bother him, he had no desire to put his life on the line voluntarily, after all, Lord Voldemort was after his head, why make it easy for him?

But the choice had been made for him and Harry's name had come out of the Goblet of Fire, the impartial judge, as the shocking _fourth_ contestant in a _Tri_-Wizard Tournament. Though he had no desire to compete, and wanted nothing to do with the spotlight, it had been thrust upon him once again, just as his survival had forced the spotlight upon him. He'd done as he was told though, he'd competed. A little weakly, and very ineptly perhaps, but he was too young to know the things he needed! Still, he'd made it, with vast amounts of outside help, and together he and Cedric, the other Hogwarts competitor, had approached the Tournament Cup and had laid their hands upon it at the same time _at Harry's insistence._

Harry winced at the remembered feeling of a hook behind his navel as he was yanked away from the tournament at lightning speed and transported, Cedric at his side, to a desolate graveyard where Cedric met his end. "_Kill the spare."_ There, he was bound to a grave stone and forced to watch as Wormtail, one of his father's friends turned traitor, performed a powerful spell to bring Lord Voldemort back to power by providing him with a new body. To this end he used the dusty bones of Voldemort's father, Wormtail's left hand, Harry's blood and a vile-smelling concoction in an over-sized cauldron.

Harry sighed as he settled his back against a tree. Really, it did him no good to re-hash the events of that night. But his thoughts continued on without pause. Afterwards, Voldemort had called up all of his remaining Death Eaters and paraded around in his new body, boasting about how Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts would bow before him and how Harry, still bound and now weak with blood loss, would be the first to die at Voldemort's hands as a sign to the world that he, Lord Voldemort, was the most powerful wizard in existence.

Voldemort had then untied Harry and proceeded to make a mockery of a wizard's duel with him. Somehow, Harry had survived and had managed to escape with Cedric's body back to Hogwarts where he'd broken down in tears. It later had been shown that Mad-Eye Moody, his Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher had not truly been Mad-Eye Moody, but a Death Eater in disguise, and that it had been _he_ who had put Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire for the sole purpose of bringing him to his Master at the Tournament's conclusion.

Then the school year had ended and he was sent back, yet again, to this place that he called Hell. His Aunt and Uncle didn't care that Harry screamed aloud in his sleep at night or that when he woke his eyes were red and puffy from his crying. No, they only cared if he woke them up, and even then their only response was to bang on his door and demand that he "Keep that bloody racket down."

Harry sighed again and looked down at the small snake curled up comfortably in the palm of one of his hands. A small smile came to his face as he remembered the looks Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had given him when they had heard him _hissing_ at a snake, and apparently having it hiss back. It was so funny; he'd do it again in a heartbeat. Besides, Harry frowned, had the snake been _cursing_ when he'd first heard it talk?

He cleared his throat, unsure as to how to broach the topic with the little reptile.

"_Uh, pardon me..."_ He fumbled.

The little snake stirred a bit in his hand and lifted its head quizzically. _"Yess?"_

"_Were you, that iss—did you ssay sshit?"_

The snake's scales rubbed against each other in what seemed to be a dry laugh. _"Yess, I did. We ssnakess have long ssince picked up ssuch human phrassess. _

_Esspecially sshit. It iss pleassing in the mouth. Makess the fangss vibrate nicely."_

Harry chuckled. _"Yess, I can ssee how ssaying sshit would make your fangss vibrate."_

"'_Your fangss'?" _The adder seemed puzzled. _"Do you not have fangss.?"_

Harry grinned at the snakes naiveté. _"No, little brother. Humanss do not have fangss. Though ssometimess, I wissh that we did."_

"_Ssuch a pity. Fangss are very usseful thingss. They make adderss the King of Ssnakess. All otherss are inferior to uss. Not—," _the adder hurried to inform Harry, _"that you are lesss than I for having no fangss. But you musst have a hard time hunting."_

Harry threw his head back and laughed. He _liked_ this snake! _"Yess, it is difficult to hunt without any fangss, but we have ssomething to make up for it: handss."_

"_Handss? Yess, I have sseen humanss usse thesse 'handss', and they do sseem very nice."_ The reptile seemed dubious, _"But I sstill prefer my fangss."_

Harry grinned. He hadn't felt this happy in months, and all because of a little snake! A thought snuck up on Harry from behind the tree he was leaning on and blindsided him. What if the snake came with him? It was small enough to hide, being an adolescent and…it did a lot towards cheering him up. Hmm…

"_How do adderss feel about humanss?" _He asked, he didn't want to insult the snake with his offer.

"_Humanss?"_ The reptile considered it. _"Humanss are to be admired in ssome thingss, feared in otherss, and alwayss resspected."_

This just might work. _"What about ssnakess that travel with humanss?"_

It raised its head and flicked its tongue at Harry thoughfully. _"When they are kept in cagess and resstrained, they are to be pitied. But when they travel with wizardss, they are admired and envied. Esspecially,"_ it added slyly, _"If the wizard can sspeak ssnake."_

Harry felt a little thrill of excitement shoot through him. _"Iss that honor enough to earn yoursself a Calling?"_

"_Yess." _The snake bobbed its head.

"_Would you like to travel with me?"_

"_YESS!!"_ Suddenly filled with excitement, the little adder slithered down towards Harry's hand where it sped around his wrist and headed back towards his fingers where it wove it's way between them before coming back to rest in Harry's palm. _"Yess!"_

Harry couldn't suppress a chuckle at the little creature's enthusiasm. _"Then I ssuposse you need a Calling."_

"_Ssomething dignified."_

Harry nodded his head solemnly. _"Yess, very dignified." _He thought a moment. _"Ebony?"_

"_No."_

"_Hmm. Jig-saw?"_

"_No."_

"_Sal?"_

"_No."_

"_Are you male or female?"_

"_Male"_ The snake huffed.

"_Ssorry. How about…Sserin?"_

"_Sserin?" _It lifted its head and gave a quick flick of the tongue. _"I like that."_

Harry nodded. _"Sserin you are sso Called then. Welcome brother Sserin, my Calling iss Harry Potter."_

"_Harry Potter? I have heard of you. You ssaved one of our brotherss from the clear cages. Thiss iss a good meeting."_ Serin sounded very pleased.

"_Ssaved one of—ah yess, I remember. The brazilian consstrictor. Do you know if he ever made it home?"_

"_Ssorry, I do not know."_ Serin's head bobbed back and forth in a sign of distress. Harry reached down and again stroked the dark brown line along Serin's spine.

"_Do not worry sso little brother. It has been yearss. You were not yet born."_

"_Sstill, I sshould be able to help my honored wizard. Perhapss—perhapss you sshould choosse another ssnake to be your companion."_

"_I do not want another ssnake ass my companion, I want you Sserin. Don't worry, there will be time enough in the future for you to help me."_ Harry continued stroking the snake soothingly and eventually it relaxed.

Glancing around, Harry realized that he had been out in the forest much longer than he had thought and he noted that the sun was beginning to set.

Placing his free hand on the tree to steady himself, Harry groaned to his feet, stretching his aching shoulders and back when they protested at the movement. "Oohh, I can't do that anymore. I'm so stiff!" Transferring Serin from one hand to another, Harry rotated his shoulders to bring some feeling back into them and then walked brusquely back towards Privet Drive. He was going to be in so much trouble. Not that Harry truly cared, he was always in trouble. But not only had he had yet another altercation with his Aunt and Uncle, but he had done it in public _and_ he had run out on his chores. Harry grinned at the thought of what they would say when they saw him walk in still carrying Serin. _They'll flip._

Overly pleased with himself, Harry began singing a song that he had on a CD back at Number Four. Ever since he had gone to London for the first time four years ago to get his wizards supplies, Harry had been in love with music. It had been chance that had led Hagrid, his tour guide for the day, to lead him down that particular street at that particular time. Or perhaps Fate had smiled down upon Harry for once in his short life. Either way, he had caught snatches of a song that had been blaring out the open door of a twenty-four hour bar. He'd paused, entranced, at the sounds that had been coming from the doorway. Even though the speakers had been turned up too loud and noise from inside the bar drowned out most of what was sung, Harry still felt something deep inside of him respond to the notes. They were gut wrenching in their purity. He later learned that it was something called 'rock' and that it had come from the United States.

As soon as Hagrid left him, he had gone back to Gringotts (the goblin bank) and exchanged some wizard money for some Muggle (non-wizard) money. He'd then proceeded to go on a shopping spree and bought 10 CD's of 'rock' and a portable CD player, complete with batteries, as a birthday present to himself. Harry had been hooked ever since.

Something about the music spoke to him. Maybe it was the lyrics, so angry and hateful at times, and so sorrowful at others. Perhaps it was the beat, the deep thrumming of the bass guitar and the drums that made his chest vibrate and planted deep in his bones a desire to roar his rage at his life's injustice at the world. But Harry thought it was an indefinable something, the spark that tied it all together that spoke to him. He didn't care. All he knew was that it healed him, gave him an outlet to all the pain and frustration he felt at the lot he had been given in life. It also helped that his Aunt and his Uncle were scandalized that they would bring such 'trash' into their house.

Emerging from the lengthening shadows of the woods, Harry turned with a sigh towards the Dursley's and reluctantly set his feet on the shortest course there. No need to make it worse than it was already going to be by showing up any later.

Glancing up ahead of him, Harry stifled a sigh of relief as he saw his gargantuan sized cousin Dudley heading back along the street ahead of him. At least he wouldn't show up after Dudley that always made things worse. Dudley could show up whenever he felt like it, but if Harry showed up after him, then he was far beyond his curfew. Harry snorted, strange that his curfew was a person.

Harry cut his song short a few bars from the end when he saw Dudley slip into an alleyway. _Now why would he do that? It's a dead end…_ Picking up his pace, Harry jogged around the corner only to come face to face with Dudley.

"Ahh!" Harry cried, jumping backwards. "Don't do that Dudley, or I'll hex you into next week!"

"You wouldn't dare do that, or you'll be kicked out of your stupid school. Besides, what are you doing following me?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not following you Dud, I was headed back, just like you were." He sent a cutting glance towards his cousin. "What _were_ you doing heading back so early Dud? Got tired of beating up little Sammy? I saw you and your buddies ganging up on his brother Robert two days ago. Must really make you feel like a man to beat the snot out of little six year olds."

"He deserved it!"

"Sure he did. Because he, just like every other kid younger than you, is terrified of you, he'd do anything you told him to. That means he _definitely_ deserved to be beaten up, right?"

"He talked back to me!" Dudley's prodigious face grew red.

"Sure, just like I am, but I don't see you trying anyth—" Harry suddenly cut off as a wave of chilled darkness washed over the two of them. The air itself got thicker and Harry's eyes widened as Dudley put his hands on his neck and stumbled backwards, clawing at his jugular as if to remove an unseen hand.

Harry staggered to the side and leaned weakly against the brick wall of the alley as a second, stronger wave washed over him, leaving his thoughts scattered in its wake. Slowly lifting his suddenly heavy head Harry released a gasp of surprise when he saw, at the end of the alley, two tall diaphanous shapes floating towards him. Two shapes that were accompanied by two death rattles that he had hoped never to hear ever again, but that he knew all too well, Dementors.

Dementors were on Privet Drive.


	2. An End to the Beginning

Take My Hand

Chapter 2: An End to the Beginning

Dementors were on Privet Drive.

Harry's mind didn't stumble; it fell head over mental heels and collapsed into an undignified heap. Dementors were here? How? They were the magical guardians of the wizard prison, Azkaban. They kept people terrified and downtrodden by sucking out their best memories and making them relive their worst. But they _were not_ to leave the prison. What were they doing here? There were no escaped prisoners for them to go after, were there? Well, there was his godfather, Sirius Black… Sirius had been imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit and two years ago he'd escaped, sending the Dementors on a rampage to find him. But the Dementors had been ordered to give up the search and return to guarding the prison, _two years_ ago!

But he didn't have time for such thoughts, for the Dementors were slowly making their way towards him and his cousin who was presently backing his way into the dumpster. Harry could hear a far-off screaming and knew it would only get worse. His vision of the alleyway faded, only to be replaced with that of his mother, huddled around Harry's infant form. "No, please, he's just a baby. Spare him, I beg you! Kill me instead!" A scream, a flash of green light, silence, and then a murderous laugh: trapped inside of his own memory, Harry released a scream of denial.

He sagged against the brick wall of the alleyway and struggled to focus; a happy thought, he needed a happy thought! It was the only way to get rid of the Dementors: the Patronus charm and a happy thought. He cast about for something, but how was he supposed to find something happy to think about with his mother's death scream ringing in his ears? He watched, numb, as one of the two Dementors crouched over a whimpering Dudley and, almost lovingly, began to pry his cousin's hands away from his face.

"_Do ssomething Harry!"_

He jerked at the unexpected order before glancing down at the small snake still in the palm of his hand.

"_Sserin? What?"_ Harry was distracted, he'd just spotted a third Dementor coming towards him, and the feelings of helplessness were increasing, leaving him with the impression that he'd never be happy again, that there was nothing to be happy about, and there never had been. A depression deep as the ocean swept over Harry and sucked him down into its depths; all he was aware of was the rattling of the Dementor's breathing and of the cold high laugh mocking his mother's death.

_I can't let it end this way, _he thought. Again he sought to find some happy thought, only to meet with failure, his mothers cry echoing crazily inside of his empty skull.

"Mummy!"

Dudley's cry abruptly cut off his mother's and granted Harry a moment of reprieve. Desperately clutching at his thoughts, Harry whipped his wizard's wand out of the pocket of his too-large jeans and pointed it at the Dementors.

"Expecto Patronum!" A feeble light emitted from the end of his wand, but it wasn't enough.

"Expecto Patronum!" Again, a feeble light, not nearly enough to drive off one Dementor, much less three. Harry collapsed onto the concrete, Voldemort's laughter taunting his inability to produce a patronus. Glancing down at his hand he was surprised to see Serin winding his way up Harry's arm. Remembering Serin's response when he asked the little reptile about cursing, Harry raised his wand again and focused on that memory.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" An enormous silver stag erupted from the end of his wand and charged towards the Dementors, catching the first one in its ribs just as it was tilting Dudley's quivering face towards it's own. Spinning about, the stag plowed into the second one and was turning towards Harry just as he felt icy fingers wrap themselves around his arm.

"No!" He cried as his mother abruptly screamed in agony, only to be followed by a dry raspy cackle.

But the stag raced towards him and rammed into the Dementor sending it spiraling off into the distance before turning to face Harry.

Slowly, Harry raised his wand hand towards the stag's delicate muzzle. "Prongs" he whispered, recalling his father's nickname at Hogwarts. Before he could touch it, the stag dissolved, it's mission complete. Fighting his disappointment, Harry turned to find his cousin and, unsurprisingly, discovered him shoved up against the wall with his arms wrapped around his knees, whimpering. He paused at the sight. What did Dudley have to be frightened of? He was a schoolyard bully who got away with whatever he wanted, and whose parents thought he could do no wrong; what was bad in his life? It wasn't like he was Harry, who had a mad man after his head.

He tensed, spinning around when Serin hissed a warning at him. "Who's there?" He called out brazenly.

Footsteps approached from a distance and Harry made out the rounded shape of Mrs. Figg, the cat lady, as she barreled around the corner.

"Harry! Are you all right? Goodness child, that was amazing! I am so sorry that happened, we should have _never_ let you out of our sight! Oh, I am going to _kill _Mundungus Fletcher!" She waved her arms about, her hands flopping uselessly at the ends.

"Who?" Harry had lowered his wand when he realized who it was, and was in process of trying to discretely tuck it back into his pocket.

"Mundungus Fletcher, that's who! Oh, Harry dear, leave your wand out, I can't help you at all, I'm useless, and Fletcher knows that. I'm going to kill you Mundungus!"

She shuffled over to check on Dudley, leaving Harry's mind reeling for the second time in five minutes. Mrs. Figg had just told him to leave his wand out. Did that mean she knew about magic? Was she a witch? Why had she never said anything before? She'd been babysitting him for years, and she'd never said anything! What was going _on_?

"Here Harry, come on, we can't stay here. Help me get -- oof!" Mrs. Figg grabbed onto one of Dudley's arms and strained to get the boy onto his feet. But Dudley only whimpered louder and refused to be budged from where he was wedged against the dumpster.

"Goodness, you're heavy, boy! Come on, now; get up! We haven't time for this; they could be back any minute now. Ohh, Mundungus, just you _wait_ 'til I get my hands on you, I'll wring your neck! You were supposed to stay and watch Harry, not go gallivanting off after a shipment of stolen cauldrons!" She wrapped both of her hands around one of Dudley's arms and braced her feet against the ground. Hauling upwards with all her might, she managed to get him halfway out of his crouch before losing her grip to the sweat that was slick over Dudley's skin. With a crash, the boy fell face forward onto the concrete and lay there, whimpering.

"Gah, what a useless lump of filth, and a bully to boot! Here Harry, you see what you can do with him, I'll just go take a quick look—" Waving her hands dismissively at the massive form huddled on the ground, she whisked by Harry and leaned around the corner to look down the street.

Sighing in defeat, Harry walked over to his cousin and looked down at him, disgust written all over his features.

"_Sserin?"_

"_Yess?"_ The little snake replied from it position where it was wrapped firmly around Harry's forearm.

"_Would you mind if I put you around my neck? Do you think you could manage to sstay there if I do? I need to move Dudley, and that'ss going to take both of my handss, and I'm afraid that you might get hurt if you sstay where you are."_

The little adder flicked its tongue thoughtfully. _"I can try."_

"_Thank you."_ Harry gently unwound the little snake and placed it around his neck, careful not to squeeze too hard. It didn't even wrap all of the way around his neck._"Iss thiss alright?"_

"_Perhapss, for a sshort while."_

"_Then I will try to hurry."_

"_Pleasse do."_ Harry could feel the snake wriggling its coils, striving to find a better position.

Leaning down, he grasped on of his cousins meaty arms just as Mrs. Figg came back from the end of the alleyway.

"Come on now boys, time to get moving. It's not safe out here at night anymore."

Harry only grunted in response as he strained to get his cousin into an upright position. "Come on Ickle Duddykins, what would Mommy say if she saw you whimpering like this? Stand up already." Feeling his back muscles beginning to spasm, Harry quickly wrapped his right arm around Dudley's overly thick waist while flinging his one of Dudley's arms around his shoulders, careful of Serin.

"All right then, lets get going Harry, we don't want to – where's your wand? Didn't I tell you to leave it out? I'm no good I tell you! I can't do a patronus, I can't do anything! Get it back out!" Mrs. Figg seemed nearly frantic with her questions, and her hands began to flop about fruitlessly once more.

"It's in my back pocked Mrs. Figg." Harry's voice came out strained with the effort of carrying his cousin and talking.

"Fat lot of good it's doing us there." She huffed, whipping it out of his pocked and shoving it into the hand around Dudley's waist. "Now _leave_ it out this time silly boy, just because squibs can see Dementors doesn't mean I'm going to do you any good fighting them off!" Mrs. Figg was as squib? "Oh, but Mundungus Fletcher is _dead_ when I see him next! I don't even have a way to get a hold of Dumbledore and tell him what happened! This has really gone too far this time, truly it has. I _told_ Dumbledore that Fletcher was no good, but he said we could trust him. Now look where it's gotten us! Don't dawdle dear, you'll only be safe once you get back to your house, though even that is suspect at the moment."

"You're a squib? And you know Dumbledore? Where is he, what's been happening? Has Voldemort been sighted -- he hasn't killed anyone has he?" Questions poured out of his mouth faster than she could answer them, and Harry was hard pressed to be quiet long enough to get a single answer. Here was somebody who might know what was going on, and she wasn't saying anything!

Harry had spent the last two months alternating between relief and terror as he listened to the Muggle news. Relief came at the conclusion of every evening news broadcast without mention of mass murders taking place. Terror came immediately on the heals of the relief when Harry started contemplating all the things Voldemort could be plotting with an extra day's worth of work.

"Well?" Patience, and breath, spent, Harry waited anxiously for her response.

"Oh, poor boy, they've kept you starved for information haven't they?" Mrs. Figg looked genuinely contrite and patted him on his shoulder awkwardly. "Probably trying to keep you out of trouble. I'm afraid there have been several attacks, and people have been killed, though mostly it appears to be suspected Death Eaters. I believe that it's just You-Know-Who getting his own back from those who abandoned him all those years ago. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but it seems to me that you've been kept in the dark quite long enough. As I was saying, there have been deaths, but only pardoned Death Eaters, and of course Fudge can't seem to get his head out of his ass long enough to acknowledge that anything is wrong."

Dozens of questions bubbled up to the forefront of Harry's mind, but all he got out was an undignified squawk when Dudley's trailing foot caught on a piece of protruding concrete. Stumbling, he barely noticed the crack of someone apparating not five feet in front of him.

"MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER!!"

Harry's headshot upwards at Mrs. Figg's screech, sure something else was after him, only to laugh unexpectedly as he was greeted with the image of the portly woman beating Fletcher about the head with her handbag.

"Ouch! Dammit, woman that hurts! What do you have in there, bricks?"

"Cat food!" She snarled at the man as she continued to bludgeon him. "Mundungus" wham "Fletcher" wham "how _dare_" wham "you leave" wham "Harry alone" wham "when you know" wham "You-Know-Who" wham "is back!" wham wham "He could have been _killed_!" wham "Now you go tell Dumbledore" wham "What happened and where you were!" wham "Go!" wham wham wh-

With a loud pop Fletcher disapparated and Mrs. Figg's last swing met only empty air. "Hmph! Serves him right if Dumbledore skins him alive! Come on Harry, your house is just down the street."

Harry rolled his eyes and started walking again. Like he didn't know where Number Four was; he'd only lived there for the first eleven years of his life and every summer after that. He grunted and heaved his over sized cousin higher up on his body, trying to keep from dragging as much of Dudley as possible. Really, why was he being so difficult? It wasn't as if he'd been _kissed _or—

The Dementors had been about to kiss Dudley! His thoughts flashed back to the moment just before the first Dementor had been sent flying by his patronus. Was it, yes, it was! The Dementor had tilted his portly cousin's face towards its own and was leaning down to kiss him. The Dementor's were going to kiss a Muggle, without orders and one that wasn't even wanted for anything. Harry glanced down at Dudley; worried that perhaps he had already been kissed, he was acting awfully strange; but how was he supposed to know how someone would act if they didn't have a soul?

"Umm…Mrs. Figg?" He asked softly, saving his breath.

"What is it Harry? Have you seen something?" She spun around and stared about them anxiously.

"No, I was just…how can you tell if someone's been kissed?"

She stared at him blankly. "Harry, you can't tell if someone's been kissed, and besides, this really isn't the time…"

"Not that," He panted, "I mean by a Dementor."

She blinked, "Oh. Well, let me see." She bent down and took Dudley's chin in her fingers, staring deeply into his half-hooded eyes. "No, Harry, he hasn't been kissed he's just in shock."

Standing slowly, her joints creaking, Mrs. Figg turned and continued down the street, glancing over her shoulder at the boys every few seconds.

"Alright Harry. We're here." She gestured at Number Four, Privet Drive.

"Yes, I know." Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, I'll be seeing you Harry, take care!" Mrs. Figg said and with a cheery wave scuttled off down the street.

"Hey, wait!" He called, but she was already gone. He snorted before turning carefully and dragging his cousin's limp form down the walkway. Acknowledging to himself that he'd never get the door open with his arms full of Dudley, Harry proceeded to balance himself precariously upon one foot while viciously kicking the door with his other.

"Hold your horses, I'm coming already!" Uncle Vernon roared through the door. He flung the door open in a fit of spite only to freeze in shock at the sight of an unconscious Dudley suspended in the arms of his hated nephew.

"Dudley! Petunia, come quick! It's Dudley, and he's hurt!" Vernon immediately reached out to take Dudley into his arms and Harry obligingly backed off, exceedingly grateful to have been relieved of his burden.

"Oh no! My poor little Diddykins! What's happened to you? Who did this Popkin? You can tell Mummy…" For the next few minutes Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia simpered and whined, trying everything to get their son to answer. Harry would have long since departed if they weren't standing in the way of him getting to his room. If they would just get _out of they way_…

"_Who iss making all the noisse?"_

"_That would be my Aunt and Uncle. They're worried about my pig of a coussin."_ Harry gently reached up to his shoulders and removed Serin from where he was precariously balanced.

He seemed to be insulted. _"What about you? Are they not worried about you? Perhapss assking you what hass happened?"_

"_Of coursse not. Why would they? They don't care about me; they never have._" Harry's thought flashed to his friends from school that had written to him only four times the whole summer. _"Few people do."_

Serin got a look of reptilian concern on his face and curled around Harry's wrist in an embrace. _"Have no fear wizard-mine. I will care for you."_

Harry felt a flicker of a smile slide across his face and he looked up to see an opening appear when Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon finally managed to drag their son into the dining room. _"Thankss."_ He replied to the little snake before sliding past his relatives and heading for the stairwell.

"Dudley? Please, please Popkin, speak to Mummy. Please!" Petunia, Harry could tell, was right on the edge of indulging in a very loud, and wet, fit of hysterics.

"M-mum?" Despite himself, Harry found himself relieved to finally hear Dudley talking. The boy had made his life miserable for years, but that didn't mean he wanted him _dead_.

"That's ma-boy Dudders. You tell us who did this to you, and we'll get them for you." Vernon's baritone voice was kind when addressing his son in ways Harry had never heard when it had been turned on him.

He had just placed his foot on the bottom step of the stairs when Harry heard his cousin's response.

"It was _him._"

Harry groaned internally. He knew exactly who Dudley was referring to, and knew he was about to catch it.

"BOY!" Once again Uncle Vernon's voice reverberated up the stairs. "You get your ass back in here, now!"

Hesitating for only the briefest of moments, Harry turned and reluctantly entered the dining room. "Yes, sir?"

"What have you done to my son?" Roared Vernon, lunging forward to grasp Harry's forearm in his meaty hand, "you undo it right now or so help me I'll lock you in your room and you'll never come out again!"

"I didn't do anything to him Uncle, except save him. We were attacked by Dementors—" Harry winced as his Uncle's hand tightened to the point of pain.

"Bullocks! You've done something to him! Look at him, he's shaking! Fix him now!"

"I didn't, Uncle. I swear. Dementors attacked us in an alley and I had to drive them off with a patronus."

"Don't you lie to me boy. These Dementors were probably conjured by you—"

"But they weren't!" Harry cried, ripping his arm out of his Uncle's grasp and putting the distance of the room between them. "No one can control Dementors, Uncle, but you're too spiteful and self-centered to learn that sort of thing."

"Oh yeah? And exactly what are these Dementors anyway?" Vernon asked scorn dripping from his every word.

"The guardians of the wizard prison." Aunt Petunia answered. There was a distinct pause during which Aunt Petunia's eyes widened to the size of saucers and her bony hand clapped across her traitorous mouth.

"What?" Uncle Vernon turned to give his wife an incredulous glare.

"Oh, no. I just—I heard _her_ talking to _him_ about it once and I just…" She trailed off, her eyes turning to focus on her whale of a son.

"You mean to tell me that the boy isn't lying?" Vernon's voice reached new heights if incredulity.

"…No." Petunia's voice was very soft.

"Then what—" his Uncle's voice was cut off as an owl swooped through the open front door and dropped a letter at Harry's feet. Bending down he picked up the bit of parchment and ripped it open, his heart sinking to the level of his shoes.

"How could they?" He asked, his voice just above a whisper.

"What did the bloody owl give you?" Vernon ripped the letter out of Harry's limp fingers and scanned it quickly.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle.

The severity of the breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.

As you have already received an official warning for a previous offence under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizard's Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is requested at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 A.M. on August 12th.

Hoping you are well,

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hophirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

_Ministry of Magic_

"Ha!" Uncle Vernon crowed. "So you can't do magic eh? We'll just see how you like the way things turn out now, won't we. I might even be inclined to be nice to these 'officials' when they show up to destroy you wand."

Harry's features darkened dangerously and he stalked up to Uncle Vernon, ripping the letter out of his hands before turning towards the stairwell.

"Don't you dare leave!" his Uncle yelled, moving surprisingly fast for all his girth and snagging Harry by the scruff of his grossly oversized hand-me-down shirt. "You won't be going anywhere until those _people,_" he practically spat the word, "show up to put you in your place." He shook Harry like a rag doll, causing his jaws to clink together in his head and his teeth barely missed sinking into his own tongue.

"Gggggg." He gurgled, his thoughts scrambled in his head like broken eggs, his hands involuntarily going up to his collar in an effort to release himself from his Uncle's grasp.

"_How dare you." _

That was Harry's only warning before: "AHHH! He bit me! Little bastard bit me!"

"No!" He cried, flopping uselessly onto the floor when his Uncle abruptly released his collar. _"Sserin? Are you alright?"_

"_Yess, Harry. I am fine. Though,"_ He added smugly. _"Your Uncle, perhapss iss not."_

"_Perhapss?"_

"_Well,"_ Serin said sheepishly _"I'm not _quite_ ssure how to do the bite-of-death, though any ssnake can do the bite-of-pain." _

Harry heaved a sigh of relief; perhaps his Uncle wasn't going to die. Though, he thought, it would be nice to have the man out of his life for good, he just didn't want to have to face a murder trial as well as having his wand broken. His thought's darkened.

How dare they? He was just protecting himself, and Dudley, though Merlin alone knows why—and they were just going to sit there and ignore the fact that Dementors were on _Privet Drive_ of all places! A purely Muggle place of residence, with the sole exception of Harry himself! Didn't it mean anything that they weren't guarding the prison like they were supposed to?

"Vernon? Vernon!" Aunt Petunia was screaming her husband's name at the top of her prodigious lungs and Harry quickly found himself developing a headache. In a rush of flying hands and swirling fabric, he found himself almost smothered as his Aunt collapsed in hysterical sobs by the side of her furious husband.

"What have you done now boy!" Vernon was struggling to his feet from where he'd fallen and – if looks could kill – Harry would be crossing the river Styx right about now.

Hastily scrambling to his feet, Harry felt something deep inside of himself break. All of the pain, the humiliation, the insults, all of the things he'd suffered at the hands of his family rushed over him. Images of slaps and insults, of his little cupboard under the stairs, of cooking breakfast without being allowed any himself…these things were quickly followed by snapshots of that fateful night in the graveyard. Wormtail, sniveling, as he cut his hand off; the blinding flash and sonic boom of the cauldron exploding; Lord Voldemort stepping out of the ashes of the cauldron's fire in all of his dark glory; the excruciating pain of the Cruciatus curse; the shock and terror of the ensuing battle; these images, too, were followed by the most recent happenings of the day; his measly breakfast, the discovery of Serin, the almost-fight with his cousin, and the sudden appearance of the Dementors. Harry's world spinned and he was only aware of Serin hissing in his ear, though he could not seem to make out the words.

_It's not enough. It's _never_ going to be enough. It doesn't matter what I do or how hard I try the world will always expect me to give and do more than I will ever be able to. The Dursley's want me to stop existing, as does Voldemort, though he'd like to help me on my way. The Muggle world thinks I'm a juvenile degenerate with no hope of being rehabilitated and the Wizarding world sees me as the boy-who-lived and suddenly I'm expected to do something wondrous because of it! Voldemort is back, and I don't know how. They don't believe me; they think I'm a lying fool who just wants attention. _He shook his head mutely. _It doesn't matter. None of it matters. I won't let them do this to me anymore. I may have made mistakes, and I may be responsible for Cedric's death, but I _will not _allow the world to use, or abuse, me ever again. _The broken thing inside of Harry slowly reformed itself into something stronger and more durable. _I'll not accept this sort of treatment any longer. I am my own person and I'll be damned if I'll just roll over and die. After all,_ he thought derisively _it takes two people to treat someone like a rug: one to lie down, and one to do the walking. _

Slowly, he lifted his head, and Harry's Uncle took an involuntary step back, swallowing hard at the emotion burning strongly in the emerald eyes.

"I'm leaving." He announced softly, but his words rolled though the small dining room with the force of a thunderclap.

Turning on his heel, Harry walked up the stairs and down the hallway towards his little room with the cat flap on the door. He grimaced as he remembered the times his family would lock him in. _No more._ Striding over to his trunk, Harry began to haphazardly throw things into it, taking no interest in how his hand-me-down clothes ended up, though his schoolbooks were wrapped reverently in cloth and laid down with special care. There really was no telling what would happen to him once he left Number Four, but he did know that the Ministry would be after him. He might not get a chance to learn anything new about magic, so he might as well preserve the information he had.

Going over to his bed, Harry carefully removed the loose board and slid his portable CD player and his precious CDs from the small niche, sliding them deep into the pocket of his jeans. He'd need them later; he just knew it.

"Hedwig?" Harry walked over to his sleeping owl and stuck his hand through the cage's open door to gently stroke her feathered breast. "Hedwig can you wake up for me please?" She hooted softly and clicked her beak in mild annoyance, though her eyes were clear and attentive as they settled on him. "Hedwig, I'm afraid that we're going to have to leave. I was attacked in the alleyway and-" he was cut off by her indignant screech and he had to snatch his hands back as she baited on her stand. "Hey, hey, it's okay girl, I'm fine." Harry held out his hands to the sides of his body and turned around showing Hedwig that he was, indeed, fine.

"I'm fine" he repeated, "But we are going to have to leave, and soon. I got a letter from the Ministry of Improper Magic Use that said the magic I used to drive off the Dementors that attacked was illegal, and that they were sending people over to break my wand." He gave his owl a look. "I'm not waiting around for strangers to make me completely vulnerable for whenever Voldemort decides he wants to off me permanently. So we've got to get going. You up for a journey?" She hooted softly in agreement and reached out to gently nibble on his fingertips. "Thanks Hedwig, you're the best. Oh, one more thing before we go. Hedwig, this is Serin, Serin, this is Hedwig, she's my owl, and a darn good friend, so play nice you two."

Switching to parseltounge he hissed, _"Sserin, Hedwig iss my owl and sshe deliverss letterss and packagess for me, be nice and don't bite her okay? Sshe's been my only friend for a long time and I'd hate it if you two fought."_

"_Of coursse, Harry. I wouldn't think of it. We'll get along jusst fine, I'm ssure."_

Harry laughed as he set Serin on his bed and finished up the last of his packing. He paused long enough to throw an oversized black button down over shirt on before scooping Serin back up and depositing him in one of its front pockets.

"_Comfy?"_ He hissed as he turned and grabbed the handle on his trunk in one hand and Hedwig's cage in the other, his wand securely tucked behind his ear.

"_Doess it matter?"_ Came the pithy response.

Harry chuckled. _"I guesss not."_

Making his way down the hall, Harry was grateful for the permanent featherlight charm that he had convinced Flitwick, his charms professor, to put on his trunk at the end of the year. Life would be much more difficult right about now if his trunk was as heavy as it should be. It even floated a couple of inches above the ground on what seemed to be invisible wheels. Handy that.

Ghosting into the dining room Harry spared himself a smirk as his Aunt abruptly cut off her wailing at the plight of her husband and son at the sight of Harry standing in the doorway.

"I'm leaving." He announced again in the same frighteningly soft tone. "And I shan't be returning again this summer; perhaps never again. I'm sure you'll manage to get over your grief at the loss of my companionship in time." He turned to leave, paused, and turned back. "I suppose you should have your hand looked at Vernon. Serin tells me he isn't sure if he injected any poison into you, and judging by the fact you are still standing I'd say he didn't, but it could still get infected. I'd hate to think that I left you three feeling anything less that the deepest of affections for me because of any harm that had come to you. Au revoir."

Turning once more Harry headed for the front door, his face splitting into an unholy grin as he heard only silence in his wake. _I should have done this a long time ago._ Opening the front door, Harry took a deep breath and stepped out into the night.

ooOO00OOoo

The letter from the ministry of magic comes from J. K. Rowling's book Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and can be found on page 26. This book is published by Scholastic Press and all credit goes to the appropriate persons. (Namely not me.)


	3. Road to Perdition

Chapter 3: Road to Perdition

A few hours passing found Harry Potter puffing slightly twelve miles down the road. Not being entirely sure where he was headed, he'd taken to simply following the road. While this was a good choice for getting him away from Privet Drive, it was not a good choice for staying inconspicuous. After all, how many 16 year olds could be found dragging an over sized trunk and an empty birdcage, with an owl following behind, down a dusty road?

Harry really wasn't sure what he was going to do with himself now. He'd already been expelled from Hogwarts, and the Ministry men were probably after him right now to destroy his wand. Knowing that he'd cast that Patronus Charm as quickly as they did, Harry knew that they had to have some sort of monitoring device put up on his wand. Or maybe his person? It would have to be rather complex for students to have been unable to remove it thus far. Especially with students as smart as some of them were. A small smile flitted across his lips. Hermione was plenty smart enough to figure it out. She probably already knew what kind of spell it was and how to remove it. Of course, she would never _dream_ of doing such a thing. Not for herself anyway, but perhaps… He frowned. Maybe he could convince Hermione to help him get the tracking charm off, and then he could just cast a glamour charm and try to start a new life. But – no, he dare not do such a thing to Hermione, it would put her in serious danger, and she could be expelled as well, or perhaps even put in Azkaban. _Maybe I'm headed there myself. I did run from the Ministry._

Harry sighed and came to a stop, releasing his grip on both the birdcage and the trunk, his arms aching.

Hedwig hooted as she came silently gliding in to land on the trunk next to where Harry had sat down. "Hey girl." He said, gently scratching her head. "I don't know what I'm going to do with myself now. I've gone and run away from the Ministry. Not that I regret it but I just don't know where to go now. I dare not go to Hermione, she could get expelled, and there's no sense in me screwing up her life. I thought about the Weasley's, after all, Mrs. Weasley is always insisting that I'm like one of her son's but…well, Mr. Weasley works for the Ministry too, and I could get him fired or worse. What am I going to do?"

"_Iss there no one that you trusst?"_

Harry started a bit, and then looked down. Through the gloom of the night he could barely make out the delicate shape of Serin's head peeking out from the shirt pocket where he had stuffed him earlier.

"_You could undersstand me?"_ He hissed to the little snake.

"_Yess, of coursse."_ The little reptile sounded smug. _"Why wouldn't I? You did accept me ass your companion." _

"_Well, yess I did but…what doess that have to do with it?"_ Harry shifted on the trunk uncomfortably.

"Everything ssilly wizard. When you accepted me, you sshared a little bit of your magic with me and I learned the language of man."

"You did? Really?" Harry tested in English.

"Yess, really."

"Wow, this is so cool. I didn't know that such things were possible. I wonder..." Harry turned his attention to the owl crooning in his lap. _"Do you think, Sserin, that maybe it'ss the ssame with Hedwig? That because I have accepted her sshe has learned the language of humanss?"_

"_Why don't you assk her?"_ Came the little snake's reply, his tongue flicking out to taste the air.

"_Well,"_ Harry shifted again. _"I know that sshe can undersstand me to a certain extent but…I can't sspeak bird like I can ssnake."_

"Jusst try."

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. Barely a day had passed with Serin in his company and the little adder was already ordering him around.

"Um, Hedwig?" He asked, suddenly uncertain. "Can you understand English?"

Hedwig paused from where she had been preening her feathers and whipped her head around to stare at him with fierce, unblinking eyes. Opening her beak she gave him an outraged screech and flapped her wings at him, stirring up the grime and dirt from the road.

"Okay, okay! Hedwig I'm sorry!" He brought his hands up to his face and shielded his eyes from the dust. "I didn't mean to insult you. It's just that Serin can understand English now where he couldn't before and I wanted to know if it was the same with you is all."

Settling back down on his lap, Hedwig clacked her beak at him before hooting softly and butting her head against his chest.

Dutifully bringing his hands back down and scratching her on the head, Harry began to ponder the situation he was in. Here he was, Harry James Potter, the boy-who-lived, sitting on the side of the road with an owl on his lap, an adder in his pocket and all his worldly possessions in a trunk under his bum. _How Ron would laugh to see me now._

But Harry's thoughts skittered away from the Red-haired youth. He didn't really want to think about Ron right now. He'd been a prick all last year with the Tri-Wizard Tournament because he, like so many other people, had believed that Harry had put his name into the cup on purpose. Ron had only believed Harry after he had come back from the center of the maze with a dead Cedric and blood on his clothes. But by then, a whole year had passed and Harry deeply resented the fact that his supposed best friend had abandoned him due to some petty jealousy. After that, Harry had been caught up in a whirlwind of question and answer sessions that had left him little time to reconcile things with Ron. So it was that when the two of them had parted ways at King's Station, Harry to Privet Drive and Ron to the Burrow, that Ron and Harry's good bye's had been, at best, a bit stiff.

After that, Ron had written Harry only once the whole summer and that was to give Harry a birthday present of Chocolate Frogs. The attached card had two words on it "Happy Birthday" and nothing else. Harry hadn't even bothered to respond.

Hermione had been better, but not by much. She had written a total of three times, once before, once on, and once after his birthday.

The first time had been a rather lengthy letter letting him know that she missed him and that she hoped the Dursley's were treating him fine. She also mentioned that Ron had finally gotten the guts up to ask her out and did Harry mind too much that she had said yes? She was anxious about her O.W.L.'s and she was sure that she had gotten number twenty three of her potions exam wrong and why, oh why, hadn't she studied harder on her ancient runes test?

Harry had been forced to laugh at that comment. He knew for certain that she had studied ancient runes a minimum of two hours a night, a full two months before the exams.

She had gone on to say that other than being busy with schoolwork, not much was happening. Through a vague and meandering fashion she had told him that she and Ron were staying at the same place, and that that place was not the Burrow. He got the sense that she wasn't supposed to tell him that.

The rest of her letter had been rather meaningless, but Harry had gotten the distinct impression that she had been trying to tell him something with vague words and phrases that she was unable to come out in the open and say.

Harry had responded by saying that the Dursley's were fine, or at least no worse than usual, and of course he didn't mind if she and Ron dated. (Though truth to tell, he didn't know why Hermione would want to date Ron after he'd been such a prat.) After teasing her a bit, Harry had assured her that she had done fine on her O.W.L.'s and exactly what was she doing schoolwork during the summer for anyway?

He'd also asked for any information she had as to what was going on with Voldemort because Hedwig couldn't deliver the _Prophet_ to his house.

Her second letter had come on his birthday and had been accompanied by a rather hefty book that seemed to be written in some archaic language. She had admonished him heavily for making light of her schoolwork and had informed him in no uncertain terms that if he didn't shape up next year, she wouldn't help him on his essays. She spoke some about things she and Ron had been doing, but they mainly consisted of mealtimes and the tricks his brothers Fred and George had played on him. And those encounters, while funny, didn't really shed any light on what exactly was going on in the world.

His response had been a bit short and had only said that he was doing just fine on his schoolwork thank-you-very-much and perhaps he had a few suggestions for Fred and George.

In her third letter, Hermione had hinted around about something again, but by this time, Harry had gotten tired of her vague hints about something only Merlin would know and he'd told her point-blank that if she couldn't just come out and say it then she'd best not write at all.

There had been no reply.

Still caught up in his thoughts, Harry let out an undignified squeal of shock when a letter came pelting down from the sky and hit him in the head, sending his glasses askew on his nose. Jerking backwards, Harry's flailing hands had met only open air and he had ended up sprawled on his back, with his feet tipped up over his trunk, staring balefully at Hedwig, who had taken to flight right before he had toppled backwards and who was now perched upon his legs and letting out sounds that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

"Hardy har harr Hedwig. Very funny. Next time you deliver a message to Hermione or Ron I'm sure you'll be sure to smack them on the head with a letter from the sky, huh?"

"_Are you ssick?"_ Serin asked with concern, sliding out of Harry's shirt pocket to coil up on his chest. Raising his head high, he flicked his tongue rapidly back and forth to ascertain whether or not Harry was hurt.

"No Serin, I'm fine, I was just startled by a letter from the sky," Harry assured him, reaching for the offending object. Before he could grasp it however, a second letter floated down from the blackness above and landed on Harry's chest, flattening a rather peeved snake. "Er, sorry about that Serin, lemme just…" gently, he removed the letter and glanced back up at the sky just in time to catch a third letter on it's descent.

"Lookit this Hedwig. I've almost received as many letters in the past minute as I've received the entire summer! Go figure, I have to get into trouble before anyone notices I exist." Harry hauled himself to his feet as Serin slid back into his pocket and organized the letters in the order of arrival before opening the first one.

Harry—

Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry, and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND.

Arthur Weasley

Harry rolled his eyes. _A bit late for that advice. And how the bloody hell was I supposed to keep from doing any more magic and surrendering my wand when they came to destroy it?_ Picking up the second letter, Harry opened that one too.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on 12th August, at which time an official decision will be taken.

Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from the school pending further inquiries.

With best wishes,

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hophirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic 

Harry looked at his wristwatch disbelievingly then re-read the first sentence. "Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago…" _This can't be right. Twenty-two minutes ago? More like _four hours_ ago! Could the owls just not find me?_ With confusion running rampant, Harry picked up the third letter and ripped it open. Recognizing his Sirius's – his godfather – writing, he read the unsigned notice.

Arthur's just told us what's happened.

Don't leave the house again, whatever you do.

Harry stared blankly at his godfather's words before crumpling the letter in his hands. Of course they were going to react this way. Harry had used magic in front of a Muggle right? That was inexcusable. Forget that he'd used it and therefore saved his life AND his cousins. Forget that he had used magic against Dementors, which_ shouldn't have been there in the first place_. Forget that the bit of magic that he had used was the Patronus Charm that most full-grown wizards couldn't do! Forget that his home life was shit, forget that the world expected him to be more than he was, forget that he was only sixteen, forget all of it!

ooOO00OOoo

Harry was fuming. Pacing back and forth in front of his trunk on the side of the road he argued with himself about the merits of calling on the Knight bus. When he had been scared out of his mind in his second year, he'd run from Privet drive and had accidentally hailed the Knight Bus, a standard-fair triple-decker bus that was available for stranded witches and wizards in and around the London area.

Now that he knew how to do it on purpose, he wasn't sure if he should. He'd avoided calling on it thus far because he knew he could be tracked that way, but if the Ministry wasn't out to get him anymore, was it safe? If it was, he could very well call upon it and have them drop him off in front of the Leaky Cauldron, the flagship to the rest of London for the wizard-run market place, Diagon Alley.

But what if they were after him now because he'd run?

Harry groaned and pivoted back the way he'd come. _"I jusst don't know what to do."_ He hissed at Serin desperately.

"I am ssorry that I can't help you with this decission. But I don't know how the human world workss."

"It'ss fine Sserin, I'm jusst glad that you and Hedwig are here with me. At leasst I am not alone."

"_Of coursse not."_ The little adder scoffed. _"Never alone."_

Turning around once more, Harry was surprised to see three people standing by his trunk. Startled by their appearance, and unable to make out their faces, Harry whipped his wand out from behind his ear and pointed it at the people.

"Wh-Who are you?" He called with only the slightest break in his voice.

"Calm down Harry." Came a gravely, yet strangely familiar voice. "We're here to take you to Dumbledore."

"Oh really?" He scoffed. "And how, exactly, do you plan on proving that?"

"We can't Harry, you'll just have to trust us." Came a female voice.

"Professor McGonagall?" Harry choked on his words.

A soft light appeared and he could finally see the faces in front of him. To the left stood a short, squat man with one leg missing and a magical fake eye that was perpetually rolling about in its socket. To his left stood a tall woman with gray hair pulled back severely in a bun and it was she who had spoken, as well as the one who had called up the light. Recognizing Alastor Moody and Professor McGonagall, Harry shifted his eyes to the young woman standing to the far right. She was rather short, with an even skin tone and laughing blue eyes. Even standing still, she gave Harry the impression of boundless energy and he knew that if he didn't have a wand pointed at her, she'd be bouncing up and down on her toes. Her most distinguishing characteristic however was her bubblegum pink hair.

"Uh…who are you?" He asked uncertainly.

"Wotcher Harry! I'm Tonks!" She said giving a little bounce in place.

"How do I know that you are who you say you are?" Harry asked them boldly. If this really was professor McGonagall, Alastor Moody and…Tonks…then he could apologize later for holding them at wand point. If it _wasn't_ then he'd be alive, and would apologize to no-one.

"Like I said Harry, you'll just have to trust us." Replied Professor McGonagall.

Harry shook his head. "I'm afraid that just isn't good enough. Professor McGonagall is an animagus. How about you transform into your animagus form and I'll believe you are who you say you are."

"Harry, we don't—" Began Professor McGonagall.

"No Minerva, he's right. Constant Vigilance! We need to prove ourselves to him. Go ahead." Alastor broke in, his magical eye swinging to stare about them even as he turned his head towards the Professor.

Looking slightly put out, McGonagall nodded her head and after a few seconds, a tawny cat stood in her place with markings around her eyes the same as her glasses.

Harry nodded his head. "I believe you Professor." In another second Minerva stood before him again, an agitated look on her face.

"Moody?" He inquired, his eyes locked on the man's remaining eye.

"I don't have an animagus form lad." Alastor stated blandly. "No help there."

"No, you don't have an animagus form Alastor," Professor McGonagall replied slyly, sending him an askance glance. "Why don't you tell us how you came up with 'constant vigilance'?"

Both Alastor's real and magical eye turned to stare balefully at Minerva, who returned the look, unperturbed.

"Well?"

"Hmph. Fine." His good eye turned to stare at Harry unblinkingly while the other roved about his head once more. "When Minerva and I were students at Hogwarts together, she in Gryffindor and me in Hufflepuff, we had Defense against the Dark Arts together and the first day of class, or teacher talked about how the Dark Arts were always around us and we must be constantly vigilant if we are to hope to stand against them."

Minerva rolled her eyes and clarified. "What Alastor meant to say is that he had a sort of hero-worship going on and anything and everything our DADA teacher said, went. He wouldn't talk to me for a week when I said I thought our Professor was nuts. You have to realize Harry, that the Dark Lord Grimrauld hadn't even risen yet, and our world hadn't had a Dark Lord for a hundred years or more." She snickered. "Alastor was so smug when we found out that Grimrauld was rising in Europe, he was almost glad, because then he and our Professor were right about constant vigilance."

Harry's eyes widened a bit, but he nodded his head in acceptance before turning to stare, puzzled, at Tonks.

"Well, seeing as you don't really know me Harry, I don't guess I can prove that I am who I say I am." She said, rather too cheerfully.

"Oh, but you can prove it Tonks." Moody stated his good eye fixing itself upon her, while his other one stared out the back of his head. "Tonks is a metamorphagus. She can changer her appearance at will."

"Fine." Harry said. "Go ahead Tonks."

"Right-o!" Tonks chirped, bringing her hand to her head in a jaunty salute. Scrunching her face up as if she was trying to remember some long-forgotten thought, she let out a less than tuneful 'hmm' before her hair abruptly changed colors to spring grass green. "How's that for proof?"

Harry lowered his wand. "Good enough." He coughed. "So what do you all want?"

"We're going to take you to go see Dumbledore, Harry." Minerva retorted sounding more than a little exasperated.

"And how, exactly, are we going to get there? And were, exactly, is _there_?" He replied snappishly. He had already decided that he wasn't going to have people walk all over him, and now wasn't the time to start letting them do it. Just because these people all worked for Dumbledore did not mean that they could treat him like a stupid child.

"We can't tell you where _there_ is because it has a Fidelius Charm on it. But we _can_ say that it is a safe house for people who are on the bad side of You-Know-Who." Moody seemed to be getting nervous and his magical eye rolled about frantically in it's socket. "We shouldn't stay here any longer. We've proven ourselves to you, now we have to get out of the open. It's not safe."

Frustrated at his lack of answers, Harry opened his mouth to respond before thinking better of it and closing his jaws with an inaudible snap. Mad – eye was right. Now was not the time for questions. But when it came time for them, by god he was going to have answers. It was his life and he was not going to be kept in the dark anymore. "Fine. What now?"

"Do you have your broom on you Harry?" Minerva asked.

"Yeah, in my trunk. Gimme a sec." Harry strode over to his trunk where Hedwig was calmly perched. Offering his arm to her, he held his hand steady as she hopped up onto it before raising his forearm to shoulder height so she could perch there. Once she was steady on his shoulder -- Dudley's oversized shirts made for good padding against sharp talons -- Harry opened his trunk and plucked his Firebolt from its protected position at the top of his possessions.

Turning his head to look at Hedwig, who was peering at the broom with intense interest, he asked, "Are you ready girl?"

Receiving an affirmative hoot and an affectionate nip on his ear, Harry braced himself as Hedwig crouched down on his shoulder before launching herself into the air with a push from her legs and a powerful down swipe of her silent wings. He watched her fly a moment, feeling a moment of joy at such effortless flight before turning back towards the three waiting magicians behind him. "Okay. What about my trunk?"

Tonks approached. "I've got it Harry, don't worry. I'll just strap it to my broom." Putting actions to words, she laid her Comet 260 on top of his trunk and whipped her wand out, muttering an incantation that caused ropes to appear and tie themselves around the trunk and fragile-looking stick. "Alright. That should just about—wow Harry! Is that a Firebolt? Those are real expensive."

Tonks' eyes lit up appreciatively as they landed on the broom in Harry's hand. He shifted it a bit in his hand. Though he didn't have many nice things, or even clothes that fit, Harry was very proud of his broom. It was the top of the line model and a present from his godfather. He didn't get to see Sirius much, after all, he was on the run from the Ministry, but he couldn't help from feeling sentimental about it. Every time he looked at it he was reminded that he had family out there who actually liked him.

"Alright now Harry." Minerva cut in before Harry could respond. "It's time to go. Moody is getting anxious." She was holding a Comet 260 in her hands, as was Mad-eye, who did seem to be getting more and more twitchy as the time went on.

"Mount your brooms." Moody called, his eye staring intently at something out the left side of his skull. They all complied. "On my count we fly. Three. Two. One. Up!"

Harry spoke softly to Serin, his words hidden by the whoosh of air as the four of them took to the sky. _"Be warned, my friend. Thingss are about to get windy, we are flying to a ssafe place."_

"_Fly? Like Hedwig?"_ Serin sounded a tad nervous.

Harry contained a chuckle of amusement as the three members of the 'retrieval squad', as he had dubbed them in his mind, formed a triangle with him at its center, Tonks leading the way.

"Don't worry. You're ssafe with me. Jusst sstay in my pocket and you'll be fine."

"But…flying. You ssaid we are—Flying?" Serin insisted.

"Yess. Flying." Harry rolled his eyes.

"No, thank you."

"No—" Harry choked, "No, thank you?" He glanced down at the ground, more than 50 yards away. "A little late for that Sserin."

"But Harry," the little reptile objected. "Ssnakes most definitely do not fly. We don't even get airborne. The only way we hurl through the air is if we fall from a tree and," he added smugly. "As an adder, I don't climb trees thus, I cannot be flying."

A snort escaped Harry. "Your logic is inesscapable Sserin. Too bad you failed to add into your calculationss a wizard who ran away from home. I, and thus you, am pressently more than 65 yardss off the ground heading in a roughly Northwesstern direction with a bosssy retrieval ssquad on my broom endss."

"Can't be. Ssnakes. Don't. Fly."

"Ssorry, Sserin. But it lookss to me that you do. Don't worry sso much. I'll take care of you. And if anything happenss, Merlin forbid, Hedwig iss flying right besside uss and I'm ssure sshe would be more than willing to catch you before you hit the ground." Harry gave a pointed look in Hedwig's direction, regardless of the fact that she couldn't understand the exchange.

"That'ss what I'm afraid of." The adder muttered darkly.

Not deigning to respond, Harry turned his attention to flying and was rather amused to see Alastor shouldering Tonks out of the way so that he could lead them on a course back the way they had come before taking a sudden sharp turn to the left. In twenty minutes, Harry observed Mad-eye altering their course five more times before straightening his broom and beginning to truly cover ground.

Harry had assumed, apparently mistakenly, that flying would be faster, not slower, than walking. And perhaps, under most circumstances, it would be. However, with Alastor Moody leading the way, their trip was anything but short. And warm. It definitely wasn't warm.

While the short travel cloak that Harry had been wearing roadside was more than adequate to protect him from night-air; it was not adequate to keep the icy fingers of the wind away from his skin. Forty-five minutes had passed and Harry was quite frozen to the bone. No matter how he tugged or pulled on his cloak or collar, the wind still slipped underneath his clothes to dance across his skin.

Glancing down, he was unsurprised to see his fingers were red with cold, the very tips of them already sporting a faint blue tinge. Prying one hand away from the frozen handle of his broom, Harry flexed his fingers, striving to bring back lost circulation. Switching to his other hand, he vigorously rubbed the palm of his hand against his chest, before sliding it between his arm and his ribs; clamping his arm to his side in an effort to warm the icicles passing as fingers.

Should have known that I'd freeze to death up here. What a way to go. I just wish Mad-eye would get us wherever it is we are going or they're going to be sorely disappointed when it comes to that hearing! I can't very well show up if I'm imitating a Human Popsicle now can I?

ooOO00OOoo

"Harry! Wake up! We're here!" Tonks walked the couple feet between where she had landed and where Harry was still hovering a few feet off the ground and poked him in his ribs.

"Ow—wha!" There was a muffled thud, then a giggle as Tonks peered down at Harry over the side of his Firebolt.

"I thought you were supposed to be graceful on a broom Harry. What about all this I keep hearing from McGonagall that were the youngest Seeker in centuries? Shouldn't you be able to stay on a broom at least?" She giggled.

"I was the youngest Seeker in centuries, and I am quite graceful on a broom. You're the one that knocked me off and Moody is the one who stayed up there so long that I froze." Harry grumped turning his head towards the peg leg Auror. "Was it really necessary to double back eight times? No one was following us I checked. And so did you. And Professor McGonagall. And Tonks."

"Of course it was, Harry. Don't underestimate the importance of constant vigilance in the fight against dark wizards. We must be constantly vigilant if we are to win." Alastor had responded without ever turning towards Harry, though he supposed Alastor's magical eye was probably staring at him through the back of Mad-eye's skull. The paranoid man was standing on the sidewalk of the run-down neighborhood they were in, his good eye alternating between staring into the night sky and glaring accusingly down the street.

"Yes, well. As fascinating as that is Alastor." Minerva cut in dryly. "We all need to get inside before we all catch a cold. Poppy would not be thrilled with us if such a thing happened."

"Hmph. I suppose you are right." Finally turning to face Harry, who had in the mean time peeled himself off the concrete, Mad-eye pulled a wrinkled scrap of parchment from one of his numerous pockets and handed it to Harry.

The headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London.

Looking up at the buildings in front of him, Harry noticed that the numbers on the buildings went from eleven to thirteen, as if the builders had somehow forgotten that twelve was supposed to be between the two.

Even as he thought that, Harry witnessed an extraordinary sight. Between numbers eleven and thirteen came a strange warping, a twisting of space itself. His eyes widened as the line separating eleven and thirteen bowed outward, a hole appearing that wasn't there before. In the space between, he observed a house, shoving its way between the two others. A house, bearing the number twelve.

"How is that possible?" He asked.

Professor McGonagall eyes twinkled. "It's called a Fidelius Charm Harry. Interesting, isn't it?"

"Interesting doesn't quite cover it." Harry shook his head at the wonders of magic.

"Well, come on people! Let's go inside already! I'm freezing my butt off here!" Tonks called, bouncing cheerily towards the steps.

Harry followed the retrieval squad into the house and into the dining room where he saw Mrs. Weasley slumped in a chair, fast asleep.

"Wake up, Molly." Minerva gently shook Mrs. Weasley's shoulder "We found him, he's safe. Wake up, Molly."

"Hmm? What?" Blearily, Molly Weasley opened her eyes, the sleepy lids roaming about the room before alighting on Harry. "HARRY!" Jumping out of her chair, she rushed over towards him and enveloped him in a hug, babbling the whole way. "Harry dear, how are you? Where have you been? You're horribly skinny; didn't those people feed you anything? What were you thinking running away like that? You could have been killed, or kidnapped. I was out of my mind with worry, didn't know where you'd gone, or where you were headed, why didn't you come here dear? And—"

"Molly! Give the poor boy a chance to speak or we'll never know anything at all. And for heaven's sake get him a blanket and a cup of cocoa, Alastor made us double back eight times before we landed and we've been in the air for an hour and a half. We're all frozen to the bone." Minerva collapsed into the chair Mrs. Weasley had recently vacated. "I'm getting too old for this sort of thing."

"Of course, Minerva, you're right. Foolish of me, really." The portly red head turned and disappeared into a door Harry assumed was the kitchen and he soon heard a kettle whistling.

Slumping into one of the kitchen table's chairs, Harry was suddenly hit with how tired he was. Glancing down at his watch, a hand-me-down from Dudley with a cracked face, he observed that it was 3 o'clock in the morning. A wave of exhaustion washed over him and he was hard-pressed to keep his eyes open, especially after Mrs. Weasley brought in a mug of hot cocoa and set it in his hands, the rich liquid warming him from the inside out. He'd been up since three the previous morning, outrunning his demons, but he'd never stayed up twenty-four hours straight before, and it was hitting him hard.

Tonks, who had sat down across from him, was nodding off, and even Alastor seemed to be lackluster, missing the kneasle that skittered in front of him to disappear under the curio cabinet in the corner.

Harry blinked and looked around for Mrs. Weasley, who seemed to have disappeared. Through his fog of sleepyness, he heard sounds rattling in the kitchen. Perhaps she was making something to eat?

Attention wavering, Harry stared mutely into his mug, the flickering shadows from one of the table candles playing games with the dark brown color of the liquid inside. Time seemed to stretch strangely and Harry had the double feeling that time was stretching on interminably and also that no more than a blink of an eye had passed. Caught up in the strange duality of the sensations, he gave out a shocked yelp and jumped when Mrs. Weasley came in and set a platter of muffins on the table in front of him.

Clucking her tongue disapprovingly, Molly Weasley saw that she wasn't going to get any sort of explanation out of anybody tonight – today -- she reminded herself. It was already tomorrow. Having set a warming spell on the muffins, they'd be alright for a couple of hours before the rest of the house got up, she bustled over to Harry and Tonks, dragging the both of them to their feet and sending them out the door to the entranceway.

"Show Harry to his room, Tonks, and then go to bed yourself. You've done enough for one day and you both look like you're dead on your feet. Get some rest, explanations can wait a day or two." Watching to make sure the two of them made it up the stairs, and – silently thank heavens – Tonks was a good Auror, but damn clumsy at times, Molly couldn't help but wonder if sending Harry to the Dursley's every summer was truly necessary. Headmaster Dumbledore had assured everyone that it was a necessary evil, but he had not told anyone why; frankly, she wasn't sure that any reason was good enough. Since the fall of Harry's first year when he had made friends with her youngest son Ron who was the same age, Molly had observed a disturbing trend in Harry's appearance.

Every August, he would appear at platform nine and three quarters a pale, skinny boy with clothes that were grossly oversized and a sickly cast to his skin. He always seemed to be jumping at shadows and there was a hooded cast to his eyes that she didn't like. Every spring, at the end of term, he would return to platform nine and three quarters a completely different boy, filled out and exuberant, a healthy glow to his skin and a sparkle in his eyes.

Even so, she could see him shrink into himself as he approached that Uncle of his, a grossly fat man with a beastly personality. How Harry had managed to remain such a sweet child was beyond her, especially given the way he was treated at home.

Shaking her head in confusion and regret at his plight, Mrs. Weasley turned back towards the dining room and began the much more difficult task of getting the remaining two people awake into their rooms and asleep. Ordering Tonks and Harry to bed was easy; after all, she was older than both of them; Minerva and Alastor however were a completely different story. Just because they were older than her they wouldn't let her mother them. No matter, she squared her shoulders. She'd show them. If she could, and did, mother Albus Dumbledore, then she could very well mother Minerva and Alastor too!

ooOO00OOoo

The letters from Arthur, the Ministry, and Sirius Black were written by the honorable J. K. Rowing and can be found on pages 28, 33, and 35, respectively, of the book Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix; published by scholastic press. They were not created by me, and I have received nothing but joy from the reproduction of them in the above Chapter.


	4. Snakes and Squabbles

Chapter 4: Snakes and squabbles

I would like to take this time to apologize for the late posting of this chapter, my grammer beta and I had our wires crossed; hopefully we can avoid such things in the future.

On another note, seems to be having issues with my parseltongue being italicized. It keeps the italics for the first bit, and then changes it back further down and I find myself manually putting it back in italics after I've uploaded the chapter. If anyone has a suggestion as to how I should keep this from happening in the future, I would greatly appreciate it.

ooOO00OOoo

It was the sound of bickering that woke Harry up the following day.

"Fred! George! What is wrong with you? You should know better than that! Don't mess with Hermione when she's reading a book!"

Pounding feet on the stairs was followed by two voices yelling in synch. "You haven't lived 'till you've pranked Hermione, Ron. Besides, she gives us the best ideas when she retaliates." The steps disappeared down the hall and Harry dropped his head back onto the pillow.

He was ridiculously exhausted from last night; he hadn't even had the energy to have nightmares. For which he was exceedingly grateful. He could feel them though, pushing at the edges of his consciousness, waiting for an inattentive moment. Knowing he had to either give in to the dreams or get up, Harry reluctantly threw the covers back and placed his bare feet upon the cold floor.

Shivering slightly, Harry cast about for something to put on his feet, only to realize the room was strangely bare. Not even his trunk seemed to have made it up the stairs. Glancing down at his body, he was surprised to discover he was clothed in his pajamas. A dim memory floated up from the recesses of his mind that supplied the image of Tonks shoving a sleepy Harry into the room, conjuring a pair of pajamas from his trunk downstairs with a sleepy wave of her wand.

Rubbing at the sleep crusted in his eyes, Harry shuffled over to the door and stepped into the hallway, slowly making his way to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

Business finished, Harry emerged a few minutes' later, face clean, eyes clear, and feeling slightly more awake. Glancing around he made his way for the stairs; skittering away from one of the doors when a large bang sounded and a strange greenish mist seeped out from the cracks in the doorway. Escaping down the steps, Harry glanced back over his shoulder, wary of any side effects that could have come from breathing in the mist.

Unless he missed his guess, that was Fred and George's room, and anything escaping from that room was best avoided. They were twins, the fourth and fifth eldest of the eight Weasley children, and the pranksters of the family. Harry had learned early on not to trust anything that they gave him to eat or drink, and not even common household objects were to be trusted, unless you wanted to find yourself suddenly sprouting feathers or being able to speak only in rhyme.

Turning his attention to the steps in front of him, Harry managed a brief moment of dismay before he tumbled, head over heels, over his abandoned trunk just beyond the foot of the stairs.

The 'thump' of his landing was immediately followed by a female voice screeching at the top of her lungs. Glancing up at the wall in front of him, Harry was startled to realize that it was a painting that was yelling at him, and he rubbed his head ruefully, wondering at this sudden bout of clumsiness that seemed to have assaulted him. Standing gingerly, he belatedly recognized that he had attracted a crowd and looked around, grimacing as the painting's voice reached a sudden, screeching new height.

"EVERYONE HERE IS AN INSULT TO THE HOUSE OF BLACK! I'LL NOT HAVE YOU PEOPLE STAYING HERE! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE AT ONCE! TRAITORS AND MUDBLOODES ALL OF YOU, NONE OF YOU ARE WORTHY TO STAND IN MY PRESENCE! A CURSE ON YOU AND ALL OF YOUR DESCENDENTS! YOU—"

A man came barreling around the corner, nearly upsetting the Weasley twins, who were covered in a strange glowing powder, and stalked up to the painting, grasping the thick curtains that were hanging on either side of the portrait, his black hair flying.

"Shut up you vile woman! Just shut up! You aren't even alive anymore, and you don't have any say in anything that happens here, so just shut up!" Fighting a short, but fierce battle with the curtains, he managed to wrestle them over the still cursing portrait, muffling the sounds effectively.

Everyone present let out a huge sigh of relief and the man turned, tugging his shirt ends into place uncomfortably. "Er, sorry about that Harry. We can't seem to get her down, nasty old hag that she is. Must have put some sort of permanent sticking charm on the back. She seems to have done everything in her power to make my life miserable when she realized I would be the only Black left when she died, and I inherited the house."

But Harry hadn't heard him. Once he recognized the figure with flying black hair, he'd tuned everything and everyone out; a goofy grin spreading across his face. "Sirius!" he yelled, then launched himself forward and into the arms of the older man. "Sirius, I've missed you so much! Why haven't you written me all summer? I was so worried about you, I thought that the Ministry had caught you, or that Wormtail had got you or…"

Trailing off on his list of woes, Harry buried his head in Sirius's shoulder and struggled to get a hold of himself. Mixed in with all the anger and resentment that had come from the succinct letter from Sirius the night before, had been relief that his godfather was all right. Being an illegal animagus, his form was that of a large black dog, had initially given Sirius the freedom to roam that he was unable to have while he was a human. However, after the events of Harry's third year, and the subsequent leaking of Sirius's animagus form, he had been unable to use even the grimm as an escape and had been fervently sought after by the Ministry.

"I'm sorry, Harry. Truly I am, but what with the Ministry looking for me, I've been in hiding. I told you before you left with your Uncle earlier this summer that I would write you as often as it was safe." Gathering Harry closer, he gently began to rub the boy's back soothingly, for he could feel the tremors wracking the small frame. Giving a pointed look to the other people in the room that plainly said 'Get lost', he continued, "And I have. Although this is my house we're in, until recently it has not been safe for me to live here because of the monitoring spells the Ministry had put on it once I escaped from Azkaban. Even that note I sent you last night wasn't safe, but I felt I had to do something or I would be an irresponsible godfather."

Gently, he pushed Harry away just far enough to look into his eyes and was startled by the emotion he found there. It wasn't sorrow that looked back at him, but anger.

"Damn you, Sirius Black!" Harry stated vehemently. "I am not a little child that you can just push around. It would not have killed you to have Dumbledore contact me, or any one of the countless wizards that have apparently been spying on me since I moved back with the Dursley's during the summer. You would be righteously upset if I disappeared for months on end, so don't give me any crap about it! There has been more than one opportunity for the wizards to contact me when I spent hours outside by myself doing chores for those pigs." Drawing back from Sirius, he balled his right hand up into a fist and swung it at Sirius, purposefully catching him in the big muscle on his shoulder so as to minimize damage. "I will not be talked down to or ignored anymore. It is my life and you are my family and I have the _right_ to know what is going on! I'll not be told to 'run along and play' while the adults take care of things because I am sick of being kept in the dark, and I _am not_ a child. I haven't been one since I was first made to cook breakfast at the age of five!"

Out of breath, and emotionally spent – it was simply too early for this sort of thing – Harry subsided into insolent silence, glaring at his godfather as Sirius rubbed at his left shoulder, a surprised and shocked look on his face.

'Ah, Harry, my boy. I am truly sorry. It is not Sirius's fault that he hasn't written you. In point of fact, it's mine." A voice Harry knew all too well spoke into the silence.

"Professor Dumbledore!" He cried, spinning in place to look at the doorway to the kitchen.

"Yes Harry. Perhaps, it is time to have a talk with you. There are many things that I have been keeping from you in hopes of allowing you a childhood for a few years longer, but in truth, I see that you are right and have never truly been a child." Dumbledore stood, leaning against the doorframe, looking – for once – every inch of his one hundred and eighty-two years.

His long, pure white beard was tucked into his belt haphazardly and the blue eyes that usually twinkled merrily with amusement were dead and saddened. Even his wizard's hat drooped to the side as if it lacked the energy to stand up straight.

Straightening slowly, he gestured past a shame-faced Sirius to a door hidden in an alcove of the entryway. "Perhaps, if Sirius would not mind, I could talk to you alone for a minute?"

In synchronized motion, Harry and Sirius both nodded their heads together and stated, "Of course, Professor." Eliciting a brief smile on the tired old man's face.

"Thank you Sirius. Harry?" He called moving towards the door, his movements slow and controlled.

"Sorry I yelled at you, Sirius. We'll talk later, okay?" Harry asked, turning to face his godfather once more.

"Sure, Harry. And don't worry about it. You're right, we should have gotten word to you; at least about how I was doing. And we'll talk about the rest later." Clapping his hand onto Harry's shoulder, he wandered off, rubbing his shoulder surreptitiously.

Harry entered the room where Professor Dumbledore was waiting with trepidation. He'd been fully prepared to stand up to Professor McGonagall, and even Mad-eye Moody. But the idea of saying such things to Dumbledore had him a tad bit nervous.

Glancing around apprehensively, Harry let his eyes roam about the room, unwilling to look at his Headmaster, just yet. It was a small, and rather cramped room with bookshelves lining all four walls, from floor to rather short ceiling, and seemed to be filled with any manner of objects with the rather unusual exception of the books themselves. Strange knickknacks and thingamabobs overflowed from the shelves and spilled out onto the floor, making the traversal of this enclosure a rather unusually unsafe undertaking. The objects made things even more difficult then it should have been by clicking and whirring in a decidedly distracting manner, twinkling and chirping as they compulsively rearranged themselves on their shelves, sometimes even changing shelves, and even bookcases. The end effect was a bit – dizzying.

Shaking his head a bit to try to clear the cobwebs that seem to have crept in without his noticing, Harry took the lone unoccupied chair in the room, directly across from where Dumbledore had seated himself in a straight backed chair, a steaming mug of something in his frail hands. Just what did Dumbledore have to say to him anyway? Something that would make his life even more difficult, he was sure. After all, if it was going to make his life easier, then why would the Headmaster hide it from him 'in order to leave you with a childhood as much as possible'?

Tugging on his shirt sleeves uncomfortably, Harry looked down and grimaced, for the first time noticing that he was still in his sleep clothes, having come downstairs for that express purpose, before he'd gotten sidetracked by a shrieking portrait and a surly godfather.

Dumbledore lowered the teacup from his lips and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he considered where to begin. There was so much he had not told Harry, so much that he realized he didn't want to tell him and, if Albus was honest with himself, so much he truly had not intended to _ever_ tell the boy. But Harry's actions during the past forty-six hours or so, truly, of the entire past summer, had forced Albus to put things into a new perspective and to truly look at things from a different angle, and he had not liked what he had seen.

True, Harry was only sixteen, but he had seen, done, and lived through more in his sixteen years, than many of the Auror's had through all of their years of training. There was a…shadow behind the boy's eyes that Albus had never recognized before, though he had always seen it. Studying Potter now, Dumbledore had to admit to himself that he had not done right by the boy.

He was thin, painfully so, and his skin had the sickly cast of those who had some terminal disease. The thick glasses, heavily taped, acted like a magnifying glass and enlarged his eyes so that Harry always appeared to be in surprise or shock, wide-eyed in his innocence. A study of what those eyes held however revealed a world-weary lackluster that dulled the brilliance of the emerald orbs.

Settling his mug carefully on his lap, Dumbledore touched the pads of his fingers together, tucking the first two underneath his chin and glancing about the room.

'Erm, well, Harry, my boy I'm afraid that I don't really know where to begin. Would you care for a cup of tea?"

Finally lifting his head to look at the professor, Harry fixed the Headmaster with his disturbing gaze. "Yes, please." He responded, reaching out to accept the proffered cup and settling into his chair, suddenly cold fingers wrapped around the delicate porcelain.

"My tale starts with the night I went to the Leaky Cauldron to do an interview for the position of Divination Professor. The woman I was to meet didn't seem to have any true potential, but her grandmother was a world famous seer, and I was rather hopeful that perhaps she had inherited some of her grandmother's abilities after all." Lowering his hands to the mug sitting in his lap, Albus took a sip of the lukewarm tea before continuing.

"The meeting was disastrous, and I was just about to turn her away and begin my search anew when she suddenly went very quiet. It unnerved me a bit and so I paid extra special attention to what she said next." Straightening slightly in his seat, Dumbledore fixed Harry with a piercing look, silently instructing him to pay extra special attention as well.

"A prophecy was told that night that spoke of the downfall of Voldemort and of the only person who was capable of bringing him down. It said that person would be marked as Voldemort's equal by the Dark Lord himself." Casting an appraising look at Harry, whose face was carefully blank, Dumbledore continued, "The words of the prophecy are as follows: 'THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES…BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT…AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES…THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…'"

Falling silent, Dumbledore stared intently at Harry, waiting for his reaction, still unsure if he was right to burden a child so young with such information.

Harry, for his part, felt as if he'd been smacked in the face with a bludger. Having experienced such things before while playing Quiddich, he found the sensation remarkably similar and even raised his hands to his face to discern if he truly had been hit. Unsure as to what to do, or even what to think, he let his gaze roam around the room once again, his mind strangely blank of anything except the words of the prophecy, which was presently marching it's way around his brain for the third time.

What was he supposed to do now? He was supposed to kill Voldemort? Him? How? 'The power the Dark Lord knows not' wasn't exactly specific and there weren't a great many things that Voldemort didn't know about, having spent years studying the Dark Arts as well as his years as a student at Hogwarts, where he'd been Head Boy and gotten top marks in everything. Harry on the other hand was a remarkably _un_remarkable student with the sole exception of Defence against the Dark Arts, in which he excelled. In truth, he might be a sub-par student if it wasn't for the fact that he had made friends with Hermione, the smartest witch in his year.

And _Harry_ was expected to kill Voldemort? Or die trying.

Clearing his throat nervously, Harry began. "Well, sir, I must admit I'm in a little bit of shock at the moment. When I decided that I'd had enough of the secrecy, I wasn't truly expecting to be told anything, much less something of this magnitude. I was fully expecting everyone to listen, or not, as his or her personality applied, and then pat me on the head and tell me to run along. I didn't expect to be told anything, much less something of this magnitude." Settling his eyes back on the Headmaster he asked, "I suppose the prophecy is not common knowledge?"

"No, Harry, it is not."

"But I don't suppose it's too much to ask that Voldemort doesn't know it, especially since it's about him."

Dumbledore grimaced. "That is where an old fool's folly comes in my boy, when Sybil – yes, it was Professor Trelawny who spoke the prophecy – was speaking, we were overheard by a spy for Voldemort. Apparently, the spy did not hear the part about Voldemort marking the child as his equal, as he was interrupted, but he did hear the part about a child who had the power to defeat Voldemort being born as July ended." Shaking his head sadly, Dumbledore took a moment to refill his and Harry's cups before offering the raven-haired youth a dish of lemon drops; the boy accepted one silently.

"At the time, there were two couples who fit the description of the parents for the child. The first was obviously the Potters, and the second was the Longbottoms. Both women were pregnant and due at the end of July and both sets of parents-to-be had personally defied Voldemort three, and only three, times." Albus waved his hand in acknowledgement of the question in Harry's eyes. "Yes, it seems that Neville Longbottom could quite possibly have been the boy-who-lived, not you. Fate and predestination are strange things, and it seems to me that either one of you was equally likely at the time the prophecy was spoken. In the end, it was Voldemort who chose you, not fate, by marking you as his equal." He nodded gravely as Harry's hand slowly crept up to touch the famous lightening-bolt scar where the death curse, Avada Kedavra, had struck him as a babe.

"It could have been Neville?" Harry swallowed, trying to imagine gentle, innocent Neville as the one who had to face Voldemort, as the one who would have faced off against him a total of four times now. He couldn't wrap his brain around it. "Perhaps—" he swallowed. "Perhaps it's best that it isn't Neville, then. He's too kind-hearted to be able to stand up to Voldemort."

Setting his teacup on the table between them, Harry leaned foreword and cradled his head in his hands. "But…I can't help the fact that the one question running through my mind is still 'Why me?' I mean, even after knowing about the prophecy and what it says, it all seems like such a fluke. Why did Voldemort choose to go after my parents first anyway? Was it because they were more dangerous? More powerful? More of a threat to what he was trying to do? Or was it something more mundane, like they lived closer to his base of operations? And why, for everything that is holy, did he do it in person? From what I've been told, he doesn't lead raids, or not very often. Was it personal revenge? For them standing up to him?"

Lifting his head out of his hands, his eyes wide with shock, Harry continued, "Headmaster, I don't understand any of this."

"Neither do I my boy, neither do I. I have long since lost the ability to reason out why Voldemort did, and does, what he does. When he was still Tom Riddle, I understood at least a little about his motivations and reasons behind his actions. But now? It seems almost random. The only thing I am certain of is that he is dead focused on killing you, Harry, but I'll be damned before I let him."

Albus's last sentence was spoken with quiet determination, and his eyes lit with a power Harry had not seen the likes of before. He finally understood why everyone said that Dumbledore was the one person that Voldemort feared. There was a quality about the way he sat in his chair and said those words; the old man melted away and in his place was left a man who had seen and done many things. Who had lived through war and come out the other side the victor. Who had complete access to his full, and astounding, range of powers, and was willing and able to use them. It was awe inspiring, and a little frightening.

Harry swallowed uncomfortably. "Thank you, sir."

The power that clung to Dumbledore dissipated, and an old grandfather sat in his place, eyes twinkling merrily at the antics of youth. "No need to thank me, Harry, I wouldn't be much of a person if I wasn't willing to protect our youth, now would I?" Setting his mug on the table he stood, and paced over to one of the cluttered bookshelves and retrieved one of the few objects that was not spinning, chirping, sparkling, or moving. "Here." He said, handing it to Harry. "Take this with you. It's a simple one-way communication device; I've got its mate in my pocket. I've more to tell you, but I think it's best, and I hope you agree with me, that we give you some time to think this through first before loading you up with anything else."

Harry's eyes darkened. "Sir, you said –"

"I know what I said Harry, and I will tell you everything, you have my word as a wizard on that, but even you've admitted that what you heard is quite shocking. Just give yourself time to adjust, and when you are ready to hear more, speak my name into the device and I'll come tell you more. Deal?"

Harry looked down at the strange object in his hand. Did he trust Dumbledore to honor his word and tell Harry everything? He'd been lying to him about why Voldemort wanted him dead, how far could he trust the Headmaster? Who knew what else he had to say? But…Harry knew he wasn't up for much more in the way of shocking news, it was only nine-thirty in the morning, he was still in his pajamas, he'd not even had breakfast, and he was expected to kill the most evil wizard alive today? No, he definitely wasn't ready to hear more at the moment.

"Deal."

"Excellent." Dumbledore clapped his hands together and rubbed them brusquely. "I'll see you after you've done some thinking then, eh?" Ushering Harry to the door, he held it open, allowing Harry to pass through into the entrance hall. "Now, I must be going dear boy, after all, time waits for no wizard." Once more clapping Harry on his shoulder, Dumbledore headed to the front door and quickly exited.

"Well that was interesting." Harry stated into the foyer, sarcasm lacing his words. "We'll definitely have to do it again."

Turning towards the stairs, Harry discovered his trunk was gone. Perhaps some kind soul had moved it into his room? He clumped up the stairs, thinking that a hot shower sounded very appealing at the moment.

Entering his room, Harry was overjoyed to see that not only had his trunk been placed in his room like he'd thought, but Hedwig had made it into his room as well.

"Hedwig!" He cried, rushing over to her and gently stroking her head. "I wondered where you'd gone off to. Did you get lost on the flight over?"

Hedwig hooted indignantly even as she pushed her head into his hands, encouraging him to scratch.

"Of course not, I'm sorry I ever thought that. Well, I'm glad you're here Hedwig, things have gotten crazy, and in a very short amount of time too. I'll have to tell you about it later though, I feel filthy, and I'm starving. I'll fill you in after I get a shower and some food, alright?" Giving her a final pat on the head, Harry turned to his trunk and began to rifle through its contents, flinging clothes and books haphazardly around the room. Having located the necessary toiletries, and a fresh change of clothes, he glanced about the room for his wand.

Not seeing it upon cursory inspection, Harry wandered over to the bed, placing his clothes on it to look more closely around the mattress and the nightstand next to it. "Hmm, now where --?"

When the drawer and the nightstand both came up empty, Harry threw back the covers of his bed thinking that perhaps it had fallen out of his pocked as he slept and almost let out a shriek of fright. He'd found his wand all right, and it was _moving_.

ooOO00OOoo 

"_Sserin! Don't do that ever again!"_ Harry admonished, trying to slow down his rapid pulse. _"You sscared the sshit out of me!" _

"_I don't ssee why. It issn't like I bit you. I wass ssimply trying to sstay warm."_

"_I don't _care_ if you are trying to sstay warm, do not wrap yourself around my wand!"_ Harry was presently making his way to the showers with a rather pissy snake coiled around his wrist.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't forgotten me, then I wouldn't have had to warm mysself on your wand, now would I?" Serin had been rather grumpy when he'd realized that Harry had gone off without him that morning. "How am I ssuppossed to protect you and be your companion if you forget me placess?" 

Harry sighed. A snake was lecturing him about being forgetful, a _snake!_ _"I'm ssorry Sserin, I wass really exhausted lasst night and I hadn't brought my clothess up to the room with me. I wass jusst going to get them and come right back before I wass…sside tracked." _

"_Hmph. Sside tracked."_

Harry tossed his clothes on the counter and turned the water on. _"I ssaid I wass ssorry. And why were you wrapped around my wand anyway?"_

"_Harry."_ Serin said in an annoyed tone. _"I wass cold."_

"I caught that part Sserin, thankss. What I meant wass, why my wand? It doessn't give off heat." Harry said, slowly beginning to strip.

"Perhapss not to you, you are warmer than your wand. But for me…it wass the warmesst thing I could find."

"That makess ssence I ssupposse." Harry tugged his shirt over his head, dislodging Serin and getting a pithy response in retaliation. "Ssorry. Are you warm yet?"

"No." Came the grumpy response.

"Well," Harry chewed on his bottom lip. "Do you want to sshower with me?"

"Sshower?"

"Um, well…warm water comess from above and gets dirt off of you. You usse ssomething called ssoap to get the resst of it off." Harry hadn't imagined he'd ever have to explain a shower to someone, and found it a bit difficult, especially since that 'someone' was a snake. But that didn't really matter, right? If Serin showered with him? They were both male, and besides, Serin wasn't even human.

"Ah, rain."

Harry chuckled. "Artificial rain."

Serin flicked out his tongue. "Humanss are ssstrange."

ooOO00OOoo

Harry sighed contentedly as he wandered down the hallway, slowly applying a towel to his hair. Other than the argument about temperature, Serin apparently liked it very hot, the shower had gone smoothly, and Serin had enjoyed it so much he had pried a promise from Harry that he'd always take Serin along when he took showers.

Now a clean Harry and Serin, once again safely tucked into a breast pocket, were looking for some breakfast. Harry knew that at Grimmauld Place, with Sirius around, he wouldn't be denied food, and he had a serious lack of eating to make up for.

He followed the sound of bickering voices towards the kitchen and stuck his head in cautiously, wary of flying objects. Harry's eyes lit up with amusement at the scene that met his eyes.

Ron Weasley was covered in bright yellow bird feathers and seemed to be recovering from having been turned into a canary, compliments of the twins' canary creams. His younger sister, Ginny, was laughing her head off at Ron, despite the fact that she was sporting a pair of bright red horns and two little bat wings that protruded from her back. The twins were conspicuously absent, but the sound of Mrs. Weasley admonishing them could be heard from the kitchen.

Hermione, who seemed to be the only one who hadn't been pranked, was studiously ignoring the whole situation, her nose buried in a rather thick tome.

"Hi everybody. Looks like I missed the fun."

Ginny, who had tears streaming down her cheeks, merely nodded, unable to do anything else. Ron, who had opened his mouth to say something, let out an indignant squawk as he once again turned into a canary. Lifting her head out of her book, Hermione looked at the fluttering bird crossly.

"Honestly Ron, you know what that Canary Cream does to you, why are you trying to talk?"

"What are you talking about Hermione? Canary Creams just turn you into a canary once, don't they?" Harry asked, taking a seat at the table.

"Most Canary Cream's do, but not the new version. This new one apparently turns you into a canary every time you try to talk. Something along the lines of, 'you squawk like a bird, so be one.' Or some such rubbish" She sniffed disdainfully, clearly stating her opinion on the matter. "How are you Harry? I heard about the Dementors, is your cousin okay? The ministry must be pretty mad at you for using magic. Did they really try to expel you? I heard Dumbledore –"

"Enough Hermione!" Harry cried, laughing, as he raised his hands to ward her off. "I'll answer your questions, just one at a time, please." He lowered his hands, laughter still coloring his voice. "Yes, I was attacked by Dementor's last night, and Dudley is fine, if a bit scared. Mrs. Figg, the crazy cat lady down the street is apparently a squib and has been watching me all summer, along with some other people, though I don't know whom. The ministry is pretty mad, and they did send me a letter, expelling me from Hogwarts and telling me that someone would be by shortly to destroy my wand. I didn't stick around to let them do it though, I left."

Ginny had sobered through this exchange, as had Ron, who'd managed to turn back into a human.

"You left? As in, ran away? From the Ministry? Harry, what were you thinking?" Ginny's voice was steadily rising. "If Professor Dumbledore hadn't stepped in you would have been expelled!"

Harry nodded, his eyes grave. "I know Gin, but what would you have had me do? Sit around on my thumbs, and then meekly hand over my wand when they came to snap it? That would have left me completely defenseless in a world where magic is key and where the most powerful Dark Wizard has just come back from the grave and is out for my blood. I wasn't going to let that happen, and I'd already decided that I couldn't wait for Dumbledore," ("Professor Dumbledore" Hermione corrected automatically, though she was listening intently.) "to step in and save the day; just in case he couldn't. I mean, they had already ignored the fact that I'd used the Patronus Charm to run off the Dementors who, by the way, were about to kiss Dudley. If they were going to ignore that, I had no guarantees that they would listen to anything Dumbledore said." Harry huffed.

Hermione leaned over and placed her hand on Harry's forearm, eliciting a growl from Ron who, thankfully, remained human. "I'm sorry Harry."

Harry covered Hermione's hand with his own, ignoring the sounds coming from Ron. "I know, Hermione. I know."

There was an awkward silence that followed, Ginny and Hermione seemed to be at a loss for words and Ron, his face the color of his hair, dare not speak lest he turn back into a bird. Harry was simply lost in thought.

What was he supposed to do about that prophecy? What was the power the Dark Lord knows not, and how was he supposed to use it? What about his friends? Could he keep them safe? Thinking back on his conversation with the Headmaster, Harry realized that he had a great many questions that he wanted to ask, and only one person to answer them. And, he noted wryly, Dumbledore hadn't said anything, one way or the other, about letting other people know about the prophecy. Did that mean that he wasn't supposed to tell anyone, or that the Professor was leaving the decision up to him? Best to keep quiet for now, I can always tell them later.

The silence was broken by Mrs. Weasley as she herded the twins into the dining room, both of the loaded down with food, and sheepish expressions plastered onto their faces.

"Well?" she asked, her arms folded as she tapped her foot impatiently while the twins simply stood there, heads bowed.

"We're sorry." They said in unison, softly.

"We'll change you back, Ginny." Fred continued.

"Ron, it'll wear off in another five minutes." George finished.

"Good." Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Now have a seat boys, lunch is almost ready." Shuffling over to Harry, she added. "It's good to have you here, Dear," planting a kiss on his messy hair before returning to the kitchen, rattling crockery importantly.

Taking a seat at the table, Fred and George turned their attention to the newest member of number 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Harry!" they said, faces splitting into grins, their earlier chagrin already forgotten.

"How ya been, buddy 'ole pal?" George reached out and ruffled Harry's already messy hair.

"Muggles' treat'in you alright?" Fred began poking Harry in his ribs. "Doesn't look like it."

"No worries though," George said, reaching for a biscuit from a platter his mother had just placed on the table.

"We'll fatten you up." Fred plucked the biscuit from George's fingers and lobbed it to Harry who deftly caught it.

Grinning widely, Harry muttered, "Wonder twin powers, activate!" before taking a bite.

Hermione, who had been taking a sip of her apple juice, began to cough as the juice made a valiant effort to take the road less traveled and exit out her nose.

After much spluttering, aided by a still-smiling Harry's pounding on her back, she glared at him, still breathing heavily.

"Erm, Sorry?" He commented to her before turning back to the twins. " What did you do to Ginny?" he asked, curious. "I've never seen something like that before. What's it called?"

"You are looking at the first-ever as-of-yet-unnamed costume for Halloween this year." Fred said proudly.

"We're going to be making all kinds, and by the time the masquerade rolls around…"George began, his eyes sparkling.

"We'll have enough to sell them to the students." Fred concluded. "We should be able to save enough up to open our shop."

"Before we remove it, Gin, would you mind telling us how it feels?" George asked, fingering his wand.

"Well…" she closed her eyes. "I can't really feel anything. I mean, there's pressure from the horns but…" she glanced over her shoulder, trying to see where the wings emerged from her back. "I don't think the wings are actually attached. Not to me anyway. I think they're sitting on my clothes."

George reached out and gave them an experimental tug. "Yeah, you're right. Hmm." He gave a thoughtful frown and glanced at his twin. "What are you thinking Gred?"

"The same thing you are Forge."

"That's what I thought."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Obviously."

A soft 'pop' accompanied Ron's reversal back into a canary.

"This is mean guys, won't you take it off now?" Hermione pleaded, turning to George while Fred removed the horns and wings from Ginny.

"No can do, Hermy. It's timed. He'll just have to wait it out." George replied loftily, beginning to pile salad on his plate. "It's only for a minute or so more."

"Come on, Hermione, eat up." Fred cut her off before she had a chance to lecture them. "The soup is getting cold. He'll be able to talk soon. See?"

As Fred finished speaking, there was a second muffled 'pop' and Ron once again sat at the table, his face as read as his hair.

"Fred! George! What have I ever done to you?" Ron roared, rising up out of his chair before stopping, apparently stunned at his sudden ability to speak. "Wha--?" He blinked and sat heavily down in his chair. "It wore off?" Befuddled, he turned to face Hermione, who was valiantly trying to hide her snickers behind her book. "Hermione! Are you laughing at me?"

"Of course not, Ron." She said, schooling her features into a bland mask before emerging from behind her book. "Don't you have something you want to say to Harry?" She questioned, pinning Ron with her sharp gaze and making his squirm in his seat.

Harry, who had, by in large, been ignoring the exchange in favor of stuffing his face with Mrs. Weasley's excellent food, and staring at Ginny – who, he must say, had grown very lovely over the summer – started suddenly when he heard Hermione say his name.

"Uh, yes?" He asked, his fork halfway to his mouth.

"Not you, Harry. Ron." Hermione responded, still looking at Ron sharply. "He has something he wants to say to you."

With those words, the dining room became silent, Ginny looked up from her bowl of soup, and Fred and George stopped squabbling over the last roll. They hadn't heard him say a single good thing about Harry the entire summer, and all had noted the distinct lack of letters to, or from, Harry.

"What do you have to say, Ron?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah, what is it, Ronnikins?" the twins taunted.

Ron just sat there a moment, unsure as to what to say, then, straightening in his seat, and appearing to toss caution to the winds, he began to speak.

"I just wanted to tell you, Harry, that I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry for ever believing you last year. I'm sorry for trying to make amends with you this summer, and I'm sorry I even thought of inviting you over to the Burrow for your birthday. You aren't the person I made friends with on the train my first year, and I don't know what's happened to you. You used to hate the fame that your scar gave you, but now you just do outrageous things simply because you are the boy-who-lived and you can get away with anything. Any other person would have been expelled from school for using underage magic in front of Muggles and running away from the ministry. But you are the bloody boy-who-lived and so all you'll get is a slap on the wrist. So, yeah. I'm sorry for ever thinking you were my friend."

There was a pregnant pause in which Harry sat, stunned at the words he had heard from Ron's mouth. Did he really hate Harry so much? When had he started believing such awful things about Harry? Unsure of what to say, but knowing he had to say something in his defense, Harry opened his mouth…and immediately closed it again when he looked over Ron's shoulder to see a very livid Molly Weasley standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Ronald Benjamin Weasley! How dare you say such things to Harry?" Striding quickly over to Ron, she reached out with both hands and grasped him by his ears, hauling him upwards. "Harry has been through a lot in his young life, more than you'll ever know, and he has never wanted the fame from his scar, he's wanted his parents instead! Or have you forgotten the simple fact that he is an orphan because of that scar?" Dragging him around by his ears, Molly boxed them quickly ("Ouch Mum!" Ron complained), before releasing them in favor of poking him in his shoulder with one strong finger. "I realize I can't force you to change your opinion of Harry, but I can make you apologize to him. Such words are never called for, and I would have thought I had raised you better than that! Now apologize!"

Ron turned to face Harry, his ears glowing red and already slightly swollen, with a mutinous expression on his face and Harry knew that any words that passed from those lips would be sarcasm at best and an outright lie at worst. He found he didn't want to hear any of it.

"That's alright, Mrs. Weasley." Harry cut in before Ron could say anything. "I don't want Ron to apologize for simply stating his opinion. He has a right to it after all." Calmly patting his mouth with a napkin, Harry laid it carefully on the table before standing smoothly to his feet. "But you must understand, Ron, that there are consequences to stating one's opinion and you are about to face them now." Holding up a hand to forestall Hermione's interjection, he continued coolly. "You might not know how I've changed since first year, Ron, but I don't know how you've changed since last year. The Ron I knew then would have believed me when I told him I didn't want the fame, and he would have listened to me tell my side of the story about what happened last night, instead of attacking me at his first opportunity. If this is the way you are going to treat me as a friend, then I no longer want to be your friend. At least as an acquaintance, I'll know what to expect of you."

Harry walked around to the other side of the table and wrapped his arms around Mrs. Weasley, gently kissing her on her cheek. "I'm sorry to do that, Mrs. Weasley, but I've already sworn to myself that I wouldn't let anyone treat me like that anymore. I hope you won't think less of me." He gently wiped away the lone tear that had escaped down her cheek before turning and facing the others in the room. "You either, Fred, George, Ginny, or Hermione. I'll leave you all to make your decisions." So saying, he turned and quietly exited the room.

ooOO00OOoo

The prophecy concerning Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort was written by the beautiful J. K. Rowling and can be found in her book Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on page 841. I did not write it, do not ask.


	5. Questions and Answers

Chapter 5: Questions and Answers

A/N: Okay everybody, here's a chapter early since the last one was kinda late. Oh, and I have some statements, and then a question, so have patience with me.

Statement #1: Thank you to my betas for taking the time and energy to edit my chapters. Scarletangel2424, you rock my world and you are awesome, thanks for making me feel better about my writing. Grammer beta, though you don't have a post-able name, thank you so much for your patience in fixing my chapters, and I hope you don't truly wear out your comma button.

Statement #2: One of my beta's is having a crazy life right now and can't edit the chapters.

Question: Would anyone like to be a beta for me? (First-come first-serve basis.)

Thanks for your time. Hugs and kisses. Exia

ooOO00OOoo

Harry's pronouncement, and subsequent disappearance, left the remaining people feeling rather shell-shocked. Harry and Ron had had tiffs before, their biggest one lasting for nearly the entirety of their last school year, but things had seemed better after the Tri-Wizard tournament.

Ginny and Hermione glanced about the room nervously, unsure as to what to say or do. Fred and George looked at Ron, their looks of undisguised displeasure bouncing fruitlessly off the back of Ron's head.

Ron, for his part, was rather proud of himself, having finally managed to prove to Hermione exactly how much of a lying bastard Harry really was. After all, if Harry was so loyal, why would he drop Ron like a bad habit at the slightest provocation? No, no, he'd definitely done the right thing. Hermione would believe him now when he told her what a bad person Harry was, and he'd finally have her all to himself. Maybe she'd even let him go a bit farther in their snogging sessions after this. Nodding his head in satisfaction, Ron looked up and took a step back in trepidation when he met the flaming eyes of his mother.

"Ronald Benjamin Weasley!" She stated his full name for the second time in as many minutes. This could not be good. "What has possessed you to say such awful things to Harry? And why were you smiling? Are you actually _happy_ that you've managed to push Harry to the point where he is no longer willing to be your friend? What is wrong with you? Harry is a kindhearted young man, and he does not, nor has he ever deserved such treatment from anyone, much less you! You are supposed to be his friend, and then you go and do that, I wonder if you aren't under the Imperious. I don't know exactly what has happened between you two, but if this is the way you've treated him all summer, then it's no wonder he doesn't want to be your friend. Frankly, I'm horrified and disgusted with your behavior. First Percy and now you." Mrs. Weasley's voice cracked with her last words, and tears began to spring up in her eyes. "What is it about that boy that people hate him for existing? He's gone through so much, and now you turn your back on him when he probably needs you the most. I can't believe I actually gave birth to you. Now go to your room, and stay there!" Straightening her spine, Molly dashed her tears away and pointed imperiously towards the door Harry had disappeared through. "Now, Ronald, before I take a belt to you. You're father will hear of this when he gets home."

Grumbling under his breath, Ron made for the door, pushing it open more forcefully than required and letting it slam closed with a bang. Immediately, Mrs. Black began to screech from the foyer and Molly heaved a frustrated sigh before turning to her children. "Don't any of you even think about leaving before I've had a chance to talk to you." She said sternly before heading out the door to confront a shrieking hag.

As the door swung closed, George spoke up, "I knew Ron was having a spot of trouble with Harry, but I didn't think it had gotten so bad. I can't blame Harry one whit, and I hope he puts Ron in his place."

"After all," Fred continued. "Harry is another brother, and he deserves better than that."

"I don't know, guys." Hermione temporized. "Ron's been awful jealous of Harry since the Tournament, and you all know that Harry hasn't written to him even once during the summer. He didn't even write a thank you note to Ron for his birthday gift. Maybe they just need some time. I'm sure things'll work out."

"Well, I'm just surprised Ron said that stuff. If I wasn't looking at him, I'd have said that it was Malfoy who was saying that stuff, not Ron." Ginny interjected.

"Ron's a prat." Fred spat, "He's been a prat the whole summer to us, and you can't deny that he was a royal pain in the ass last year either. He didn't believe Harry at all when he said he hadn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire."

"None of us did!" Hermione protested. "At least, not at first." She continued awkwardly in the face of the incredulous looks shot in her direction. "Come on Fred, George, how long were you two pestering him to find out how he'd gotten his name in the Goblet? And Ginny," she turned to the smaller girl. "Don't tell me the thought hadn't crossed your mind that Harry was out looking for more fame. What with Professor Lockheart the previous year…"

"Don't bring that git into this Hermione!" George cut in, "Besides, doesn't that just prove our point, and not yours? Harry _hated_ that man, especially when he kept showing up at odd times and insisting on taking pictures with Harry."

"Well, I did notice that in those photos, Harry's image never actually appears. You always see Lockheart pulling on his arm, trying to get him to enter the frame, but he never actually does." Ginny put in.

"How do you know that, Gin?" Hermione questioned.

"Well…" she mumbled bashfully, her eyes dropping to the tabletop, and her hands reaching out to compulsively straighten the silverware sitting in front of her. "I sort of…I sort of snitched one of Lockheart's pictures of him and Harry."

"Really?" Fred (or was it George?) reached out and threw an arm around Ginny's neck and ruffled her hair. "That's our little sister! Causing mayhem and trouble for that pompous git."

"Ginny? How could you? Stealing from a teacher!" Hermione admonished, her face set in a disapproving frown.

"Well, it wasn't like he didn't have enough of them!" Ginny defended herself hotly, throwing her brother's arm off and valiantly trying to straighten her hair. "There must have been a hundred copies of that one picture."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but found herself cut off by the sudden silence in the house and the rather flustered return of Mrs. Weasley.

"I'm sorry about that dears, Mrs. Black was being exceptionally difficult because no one but me showed up at her screaming. Apparently she enjoys an audience."

"Even if that audience consists of traitors and mudbloods?" George (or was it Fred?) quipped with a grin.

"Apparently so." Their mother responded. "What have you decided dears?" She questioned, apparently in a better mood for having taken her anger out on Mrs. Black's painting.

"We're staying friends with Harry." The twins said together, "Ron's been a right prat all summer." A steely glint in their eyes warned the room's occupants that Ron was not safe from the twins' retaliation.

"Me, too." Ginny put in, rather more quietly.

"I don't want to loose Harry, but Ron's important to me, too." Hermione groused. "I just don't want to lose either of them, and it's not fair they've put us in this situation. They should just work it out for themselves." So saying, she picked up her fork and viciously stabbed into her salad with it, a cherry tomato giving up the fight with a wet pop.

"Well. No one said you have to make up your mind right now." Ginny quickly assured Hermione, wary of a third dressing down from her mother, "And I think we all hope they can work this out." She said, glancing around for support.

"Of course we do, Dear," Molly said, beginning to clear the table of the empty dishes. "You obviously aren't really hungry, Hermione, so why don't you all clear out and find something to do, hmm? We've got a meeting in here in about an hour and I need time to clean up a bit."

"What? Oh, yes. Of course." Hermione said, setting her fork, with a much-abused vegetable on it, down from where she had been spinning the bruised tomato around in it's own juices. "I think I'll just go do some homework." She said absently, much absorbed with her thoughts.

Molly Weasley nodded and began to busily gather up the dishes, gravely shooing the children out the door, calling out admonishments after the retreating twins to not blow the house apart.

Fred and George waved their hands at their mother, calling out an insincere "of course not, Mum!" as they disappeared up the stairs. Ginny too, entered the stairwell, intending to find her journal and put it to good use. Her encounter with Tom Riddle's journal had not made her stop using one, but it had made her much more cautious about what she wrote, and on what she wrote it.

Hermione, her thoughts galloping across the surface of her mind, bypassed the stairs and instead entered the library, her thoughts slowly turning to Transfiguration essays and Potions ingredients.

Settling herself into a chair with a satisfied sigh, Hermione opened her thick tome to the last place she had been reading, right before Ron had turned back into a human and had started this mess. Settling her eyes dutifully upon the page, she couldn't help but feel relieved that she was once again studying. It always helped her to think, and she had much to think about. _What_ was she going to do about Ron?

ooOO00OOoo

Harry walked into his room and threw himself face up onto his bed, his thoughts whirling about his head like snitches inside a little box. Had he done the right thing? Had he been too harsh with Ron?

Ron had been his best mate for years now, sure they'd had spats now and again, but they'd always been able to work through them just fine. But now…he'd just cut things off with Ron. For good? Truthfully, Ron hadn't even said anything truly horrendous. Nothing compared to the verbal abuse he got from the Dursley's or Malfoy on a daily basis. What made it hurt so much more was that it was coming from Ron.

But then…

Harry sighed and grasped his hair with both hands, letting out an inarticulate groan of frustration. He'd said that he wasn't going to allow anyone to walk all over him again, but there was such a thing as being _too_ stubborn and not allowing anyone to offer constructive criticism ever again. He didn't want to allow Ron to treat him like dirt, but _was_ Ron treating him like dirt? Or was he just being a prat about how he said it, but was the message itself, in fact, valid? Was Harry being stuck up? Had he changed for the worse?

Hedwig gave a soft hoot from her position on top of her cage and took off, gliding gently over to where Harry lay miserably in his bed. Back winging, she landed softly, careful not to snag her talons on the bedspread. As she settled her wings along her back, Hedwig tilted her head to the side as she pondered Her Wizard. He was a small lad; lanky, with slight muscle overlaying fragile bone, but for all his physical pettiness, there was a strength inside her Harry that she saw in few other mages. Hooting again, she leaned over Her Wizard and gently nipped at his earlobe, seeking to distract him from his somber thoughts.

"Oh, Hedwig." He said, sitting up and looking at her distraughtly. "What am I supposed to do now? Did I do the right thing?"

Hedwig clacked her beak. How was she supposed to know? He hadn't told her what he did!

Fixing him with a stern glare, Hedwig hopped up on his lap and butted her head against his chest in a manner that said 'go on and scratch my head, you know it always makes you feel better.'

Harry was reaching his hand up to touch Hedwig when she butted her head against his chest and upset Serin.

"Watch out feather head. If you ssquash me, I'll be very upsset. And you don't want that, because I am fearssome." He hissed, poking his head out from the oversize pocket and slithering down Harry's side to coil up on the comforter.

Despite himself, Harry chuckled. "I'm sure she didn't mean to hit you on purpose, Serin, she just wanted me to pet her." Raising his hand, Harry did just that, getting a 'Huur' of pleasure from Hedwig in response.

Turning his attention to the little reptile at his side, Harry questioned, "What do you think Serin? Did I do the right thing?"

Serin lifted his head and flicked his tounge out pensively. _"I am unssure, Wizard-Mine. If he were a ssnake, he would not ssurvive long with ssuch wordss coming from hiss mouth. But, he iss not, and sso he lives." _

From her coveted position on Harry's lap, Hedwig gave a hoot of indignation, demanding to be told what had happened.

"Hmm? What is it Hedwig?" Harry asked. "Is that better?" he shifted his hand around and began scratching at a different spot, working his way through the dense feathers on her head.

Closing her eyes in bliss, Hedwig came back to herself with a snap, how was she going to get Her Wizard to tell her what happened if she couldn't talk to him? To bad the understanding only went one way. Ruffling her feathers in annoyance, Hedwig nipped rather sharply at his fingers. She couldn't think when he scratched her head, made her want to sleep and dream of mice.

"Oww, geeze Hedwig, what's wrong with you? First you crawl in my lap and demand I pet you, and then you nip me so I won't. Sheesh. Just like a woman." Harry brought the injured digit up to his mouth and sucked lightly on it.

Hedwig ruffled up her feathers again, puffing herself up to look larger and let out a screech of annoyance. _Silly boy, why don't you just tell me what happened?_

"Aaah, Hedwig! Come on now, I'm trying to tell you something serious here. Don't go screeching at me." Harry glared at Hedwig, then relented at she hooted softly at him and looked up at him with her large eyes. "Aww, girl. Why can't I stay mad at you?" Bringing a hand up once more to caress her feathers, Harry began to talk.

"I went downstairs this morning to go get some clothes, since my trunk didn't seem to have made it up here last night. On the way down, I passed by the twins' room and they had some sort of experiment going on. Big surprise there, right? Well anyway, I was thinking about this mist that was coming from there door and didn't notice my trunk sitting at the end of the stairs, so – of course – I trip right over it, and land of my face. Then this portrait of this ugly old woman starts to scream at me about being unfit to live in her house."

"_Aaah, I remember that."_ Serin cut in. _"Sshe woke me up, and that'ss when I realized you were gone."_

"Yes, well." Harry said restlessly, "Anyway, so she's screaming at me, and of course the whole house hears her, so they all show up to see what's the racket. Then Sirius, that's my godfather, Serin, shows up and he yells back, calling her all sorts of names. He finally shuts her up, and gives me a hug. But, I'm just so mad at him, I'm happy to see him, but so mad. He's been gone all summer, and hasn't sent me a single owl the whole time. He didn't even send me a birthday gift! I've been sick with worry about where he's been and what he's been up to; I thought he'd been killed or captured by the Ministry. And yet, here he is, safe and sound, in his own home, no less, and he hadn't bothered to tell me as much!" Harry shifted about, dislodging Hedwig to the bed's surface so he could pace the room in agitation.

"I was so mad I punched him, though I made sure I didn't hurt him, _too_ much. And –"

"_Punched?"_

"Er, yeah. I uh…attacked him with my hand?" Harry clarified, unsure as to how to describe a punch to a creature with no limbs.

"_How do you…punch?"_ Serin asked, lifting his head a bit and flicking out his tongue.

"Well, like this." Harry said, demonstrating on thin air. "See? Anyway," Harry eyed Serin for more interruptions "…Anyway, I punch him and tell him how I'm sick of being treated like a child, and I deserve more respect, and well, you know, all those things. Sirius looks all contrite, but then Dumbledore shows up behind us and tell me that I'm right, I'm not a child and that he has some things to tell me."

Hedwig hooted with alarm, flapping her wings in agitation.

"My thoughts exactly, Hedwig. Dumbledore has a tendency to keep his cards close to his chest, and the sort of things he knows…" Harry shook his head "Well, we go into this room full of stuff and he tells me this prophecy that basically says that Voldemort marked me as his equal when he tried to kill me, and that 'neither can live while the other survives'. It also says I have 'the power the Dark Lord knows not' whatever that means."

Harry stopped pacing and hung his head, bringing his hands to his cheeks and scrubbed back and forth, as if trying to scrub away his problems. "I just don't know what to think about that. I mean, me? Kill Voldemort? Most people won't even say the man's name, they just say You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." He snorted in derision. "As if that would stop him from coming to kill them if he had a good reason." He shrugged. "Or a bad one."

Giving a frustrated sigh, Harry begins to pace once again. "So I'm all agitated, and worried, and so shocked I can't think straight. Apparently there were two children that met the description given at the time of the prophecy, Neville Longbottom and me. Now, Neville is a great kid, but he's a bit absent-minded at times, and I honestly can't see him as the one who could defeat Voldemort. But there's this part of me shrieking in the background telling me, would it be nice if it was Neville? Then his parents would be the ones that had been killed, and mine would still be alive and I wouldn't have been raised by the Dursley's." He gave an involuntary shudder. "But that really isn't fair of me is it? Wishing trouble onto Neville? It's just that so much has happened already, what with Voldemort coming back and… C-Cedric."

Harry paused in his pacing and swallowed hard. "Cedric died because of me, so I guess it's only fair that I have to kill Voldemort." He shook his head sadly. "But how am I supposed to do that? By some 'power the Dark Lord knows not'? I never knew prophecies were possible anyway, and now I'm supposed to believe one given about me by a person I don't even know, before I was even born?"

Gesturing with his hands in agitation, Harry continued, "Then Dumbledore gives me this thing, telling me that when I want to ask him questions, all I have to do is say his name into it and he'll come answer them. I have so many questions at the moment, I don't have any idea as to where to start!" He fiddled with the object the Headmaster had given him for a moment, and placed it on his bed at Serin's request, resuming his pacing.

"So here I am, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, prophesied Boy-Who-Will-Destroy-Voldemort, getting the shock of my life. I go downstairs again after coming up here and retrieving my wand – and Serin – and find Hermione, Ginny, and Ron in the dining room, with Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen yelling at the twins. Apparently they have some updated version of the Canary Cream that turns you into a bird every time you try to speak. And since Ron can't keep his mouth closed, he's the perfect target." Harry shrugged. "I thought it was rather funny, myself."

Harry walked over to the bed and scooped Serin up, cuddling the tiny reptile in his hand and running a finger gently down the adder's spine. "Once Ron turns back into a human, permanently this time, he proceeds to tell me what an utter jerk I am and how he's sorry he ever became my friend in the first place and how much I've changed since he first met me. He even went so far as to say that my running away from the Ministry was me looking for more attention and fame!"

"I was so mad that Ron would even think such things about me, much less say them, that I reacted without thinking and told him that if he was going to be like that, then I didn't need to be friends with him, at least as an acquaintance – and I was hard pressed to say acquaintance and not enemy – I'd know what to expect." He sighed, "But now I'm wondering if I did the right thing in cutting things off with Ron. If nothing else, it will make things difficult for everybody else, since Mrs. Weasley has practically adopted me into the family, and all because of Ron in the first place. And poor Hermione, she's our best friend, and has been dating Ron since the beginning of summer. What will she do now? I don't want her to choose between us, but I'm afraid that Ron might push the issue and make her choose, and I can't help but think that she'll choose him."

Hedwig owl-walked over to him and cooed soothingly, nibbling gently at his wrist in a bird kiss.

"Thanks, Hedwig. So, what do you guys think? So much has happened to me today, and it's barely afternoon, I don't really want to think about the rest of the day, though I do want to talk to Dumbledore again, soon. He didn't even tell me how much I could tell my friends, though telling Ron anything is a moot point."

"_I don't know Wizard-mine." _Serin said, regret obvious in his hissing syllables _"I don't have any experience with humanss, though it sseemss to me that Ron wass very mean to you. I can't tell you if you over reacted, humanss do ssuch sstrange thingss all of the time, it is difficult for me to decide if ssomething was warranted or not. I am ssorry that I cannot help you. I'm afraid you have mad a bad choisse of companionss in me."_

"Of course I haven't made a bad choice, Serin. It's not your fault you are young. And I must admit, most of what humans do doesn't make sense to us, either." Harry comforted the snake, soothingly stroking the adder's spine with a fingertip. "What about you, Hedwig?"

She blinked up at him and then, in that unnerving way owls have, whipped her head around rapidly from right to left, giving the appearance that her head had just turned completely around on her shoulders.

"Uh, I'll take that as a 'no'. But, is that a 'no, you didn't do the right thing' or 'no, you shouldn't feel ba-" Harry was cut off as she hooted excitedly. "Ok, 'no I shouldn't feel bad' it is." Harry smiled and reached out, gently scratching behind her ear-tuffs; a place he knew was especially sensitive. "Thanks for listening you two, you made me feel better. Even if I'm still not certain it was the right thing to do. Don't worry, Hedwig," Harry hastily put in when she glared fiercely at him even as she leaned into the caress. "I'm not going to completely forgive him, but I will give him a second chance. After all, he was my very first friend. But now," he continued, standing with a flourish as Serin coiled around his wrist, a wicked smile on his face. "It's time for some music."

ooOO00OOoo

Ginny sighed as she closed her journal. Her thoughts had been more chaotic this morning than she'd initially realized and it had taken her a considerable amount of time to organize them enough to put them on paper in some semblance of a coherent manner.

Placing her quill down neatly nest to her inkwell, Ginny took a few moments to ponder the situation. Ron had been hard on Harry all last year, and he'd been a bit prickly with the rest of the family during the summer. Time spent at number 12 Grimmauld Place was a study in patience these days.

Ron waffled about with his emotions, elated and in love with Hermione one day and cranky and upset with Harry the next. Ginny had been privy to a number of arguments between Ron and Hermione considering their mutual opinions of Harry. Hermione advocated patience and understanding with him, after all, he'd been through a lot. Ron, on the other hand, had a tendency to huff and snarl that Harry was nothing but an attention-seeking buffoon who didn't appreciate his friends as much as he should and who couldn't truly be trusted to keep his word.

Ginny was simply baffled at this turn Ron had taken. Where exactly was the problem? Ron and Harry had been duking it out all last year, but they'd seemed over it well enough at the end. And they had been over it – hadn't they? Ginny shook her head in confusion. Perhaps not. Obviously not. So what was the big deal then?

Ginny sighed and laced her fingers together, arching her pack as she raised her hand over her head, smiling slightly in satisfaction as one or two of her vertebra popped. Sitting here wasn't going to get her any answers, and talking to Ron was, she already knew, hopeless. Maybe Harry would be willing to shed some light on the matter.

That decided, Ginny stood and padded her way out the door and down the hall to Harry's room. Number 12 Grimmauld place was a rather large residence and had plenty of rooms for each of the inhabitants, though Ginny and Hermione were sharing a room for pleasure, not out of necessity. She had assumed earlier that Harry and Ron would do the same, though now it seemed that was going to be rather unlikely.

Approaching the door, Ginny was surprised to hear the sounds of muffled singing coming from the other side of the closed door. She glanced up and down the hallway, checking her location in relation to the other doors. One, two, three…yes, this was the third door down from the bath, second from the stairwell. Also known as Harry's room. Wasn't it?

Lifting her hand slowly, her fingers curled in a loose fist, Ginny gently rapped her knuckles softly on the wood of the door. When admittance was not forthcoming, and in fact the singing did not stop, Ginny tried again, applying a bit more force to her knock.

"Um, Harry? Are you in there? Open up, it's me, Ginny. I wanted to talk to you."

The singing paused, and there was a muffled hissing, as if someone was slowly letting air out of a partially inflated balloon, and the crinkle of paper's being shoved together before the door opened just enough to allow Harry to look warily at her.

"Yes, Ginny?" He asked, politely.

"I was, wondering if you'd be willing to talk to me a while. I know you and Ron are having, er, _issues_, but I still want to be your friend." She stated nervously, absently toying with the hem of her shirt.

"Sure, Gin, of course. Come on in." Harry said, stepping pack and pulling the door with him to grant her access to the room.

Stepping across the doorframe gingerly, Ginny looked around the room, noting absently that Hedwig had found Harry here, and was apparently enjoying a pleasant nap.

Settling herself absently in a chair, Ginny began to furiously try to gather her scrambled thoughts. While writing at her journal, she'd had all manner of questions that she wanted to ask Harry about Ron, but now she found herself unable to come up with one. Well, that wasn't strictly true. She still had…

"Why?"

Harry turned from where he'd been closing the door and gave a small sigh. Not even bothering to pretend that he didn't know what she was talking about, he walked over to his bed and settled himself on it. What should he say in answer to that? That Ron was a prick? That he had been for over a year now and frankly Harry was just sick of it? That he'd had a crisis of faith in everyone around him and that he'd decided he could only depend on, and live for, himself? Running a hand ruefully through his hair, Harry decided once again that honesty truly was the best policy.

"I don't know."

Ginny looked at him with a rather shocked look on her face. "What do you mean you don't know? How can you not? Harry, he's my brother, and your best friend and he has been for four years now; and you can't even tell me what is going on, or why you broke things off with him."

"I know, Gin, and I'm sorry. I just – I shouldn't have said that. He just made me mad. And he hurt me. I made a decision earlier yesterday that I wouldn't live for anyone but myself. The wizarding world dithers about in their opinion of me, never deciding if I'm someone to be admired or hated. My relatives hate me, they always have, and Dementors attacked me. Then, when I tried to defend myself and my porker of a cousin from them, I'm punished; told I'm a bad boy for saving us, that they've kicked me out of school and are sending someone over right away to destroy my wand. For defending myself they're going to take away my only means of protection? I don't think so." Harry growled at the memory.

"So I left. I packed my trunk, grabbed everything I thought I'd need and I left. I didn't know where I was going or what I was going to do, all I _did_ know was that I was not going to allow anyone else to dictate how I lived my life ever again. I'd had enough of everyone telling me what was best for me. In my opinion, they're obviously wrong, so why should I listen to them or do anything they say?"

Harry slipped his wand out from behind his ear and twirled it absently around, working it back and forth across the backs of his fingers. "So when Ron said all of that stuff, and without even knowing what was going on, I just reacted. Not the smartest thing I've ever done I'll admit, but it hurt, Gin." He looked up at her, pleading for her to understand. "I know what I said was wrong, and as soon as I can work off my anger at him, I'm going to see if I can fix things with him. I'd hate to lose my first friend to a stupid scuffle. But that hasn't changed my earlier decision to not allow other people to dictate to me anymore. It's just made me realize that it's going to be harder than I originally thought."

Softening at the words Harry had said earlier, and hearing some of his hurt and confusion in his tone, Ginny got up from the chair and came over to sit next to him, gently placing one hand on top of his where he nervously spun his wand, stilling the movement.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I don't want people to just walk all over me, but I don't want to push everyone out of my life just because they have a different opinion from mine, or because they dare to offer a bit of constructive criticism." He shrugged helplessly. "It's just difficult to find a balance between the two is all. Unfortunately, I'm new at this whole balancing act, and I've messed things up rather royally with Ron. Not that I think he was right in what he said, in fact, I know he wasn't. But still…" Harry trailed off, feeling like he'd already made his point.

Ginny removed her hand from Harry's and tucked it demurely into her lap. "I understand Harry. And I think your right. Ron's said some hurtful things, and I can see how that letter from the ministry would make you mad, and why you decided those things. I also agree with you when you said you over-reacted and I'm glad you are going to try and patch things up with him." Ginny suddenly grinned rather maliciously. "And don't worry about getting your own back against him, the twins have your back on that one."

Despite himself, Harry returned the smile. "Speaking of the twins and their pranks, what's going on with them, anyway? I woke up to them yelling something to Ron about pranking Hermione? I didn't know they even _could_ pull a prank on her, she usually sees them coming a mile away, observant as she is."

Ginny's smile widened, if that was possible, "Usually, she can see one coming, but not after she's been studying with Ron."

"I'm sorry?" Harry said, confused. "What does Ron have to do with this?"

"Well, you see," she explained, "Hermione had just come back from studying arithmancy with Ron, and she was apparently exceptionally irritated with him for his idiotic questions. The twins were coming back from another failed attempt to listen in at one of the meetings and saw her stalking down the hall, muttering to herself, her nose firmly planted in the spine of some book. Of course, being them, they took full advantage of the fact that she was distracted, and placed a spell on the door to our room. As mad as she was, she walked right past it the first time, giving them time to place a spying spell on the wall opposite our door, and then go hide in their room. I was in our room at the time, but I didn't hear anything, or I might have warned her."

"Might, Gin?" Harry asked, bemused.

"Well," She said, an innocent look plastered on her face, "I enjoy a good prank as much as the twins do, and it does get annoying to have Hermione be the only one who gets away scot-free so…well, anyway," she said with a shrug "I didn't hear anything, so I guess it doesn't matter what I _might_ have done. Hermione doubles back down the hallway towards our door, and just as she puts her hand on the knob, the spell activates. The twins never did tell me if it was because she touched the door or if it was timed, but regardless, the spell activates, and Hermione is suddenly sporting bright pink hair, like Tonks, and lime green skin. They even changed her finger and toenails to neon yellow. I heard her scream from the doorway and by the time I got there, the twins were falling all over themselves with laughter in the hallway."

"I can imagine." Harry said wryly

"It was rather funny. Hermione tried to take the spell off and was told that 'finite incantium' wouldn't work, nor would any of the other cancel phrases. According to the twins, she couldn't touch anybody for three days, no bodily contact with any human being, then the spell would end. But I have it on good authority that they knew the counter-spell and just wanted to keep her and Ron apart for a couple of days."

"What did she do? I heard them say something about good ideas when she retaliates."

"Well, she was pretty mad at them, she was supposed to go see her parents the day after they pranked her and she couldn't avoid touching them, they gave her a hug first thing, so she spent the time with her parents thinking up a good counter-prank. The only problem is that it's summer and she couldn't do any spells because of the underage restriction. She ended up sending a letter to Charlie in Romania and she got _him_ to do the prank instead. He wrote them a letter that had a spell hidden in the parchment. When the twins touched it, and they had to be touching it together, they began to talk in rhyme, and they could only say five words at a time."

"Wait, if they could only say five words at a time, how were they rhyming?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Well, they alternated talking back and forth, and every time George said something, it had to rhyme with what Fred had said. But Fred could say whatever he wanted, it didn't have to rhyme, that was George's job. It was amazing. Apparently, Hermione had come up with that spell, and then sent it to Charlie, asking him if he'd put the charm on a letter and owl the letter to the twins. The best part was that suddenly everyone could tell which twin was who, all you had to do was pay attention to who was saying what."

"That was a pretty good retaliation, but you said Hermione came up with the spell? I didn't know you could do that. That's awesome." Harry said, clearly impressed.

"Yeah," Ginny nodded, "Mum was so impressed with Hermione that she didn't even scold her for it at all. Of course, the twins took it all with good humor, and she told them how to reverse it after a few days."

"Wow. I wonder if Hermione would mind teaching me how she came up with that spell? I'd love to make up one of my own."

"You never know. Hermione loves to be bossy, so she probably wouldn't mind."

"Hey, Ginny?" Harry asked, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "What were the twins talking about earlier when they said you were their test subject for Halloween costumes?"

"Oh, that. Well, you see, there's going to be a masquerade ball at Hogwarts this year, and the twins are trying to come up with all sorts of disguises to sell to the kids who can't come up with one of their own. When I heard them talking about it, I offered to be their test subject, in return for them making one specifically for me." She smiled shyly at him. "I was thinking about being a fairy."

"A fairy, huh? That sounds nice. I'll have to think of something." Harry leaned backwards on the bed, pillowing his head on one of his hands. "I could always go as Harry Potter, though I guess that would be kind of redundant."

"You think?" Ginny giggled, turning slightly so that she was sitting cross-legged on his bed, looking at him. "What would you do differently?"

"Hmm. I don't know." Harry frowned. "I could always take a quill and draw a large lightning bolt on my forehead." He turned his head to look at her, demonstrating with the tip of one finger. "See? Then, I'd be done, and I could go as Harry Potter. It's the simplest disguise ever."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Come on, Harry, be serious. You hate all the fame, why would you want to call attention to the fact that you're Harry Potter? I'd have thought you would look foreword to being someone else for a little while."

"Yeah, I know. I was just kidding." Harry turned his head once again and began to stare moodily at the ceiling, one of his feet kicking absently at the side of the bed with the back of one heel.

"Cheer up, Harry, things will work out in the end." She reached over and patted him gently on his shoulder. "Now, let's think of something good for you to be."

"Nah, not now, Gin. I've got some things to do." Harry sat up on his bed and walked over to his trunk, pulling out some papers, a quill and ink, and a strange machine before closing the lid.

"What is that thing?" Ginny asked from her position by the door where she had been about to let herself out.

"Hmm? What thing?" Harry asked, without turning around, fiddling with the 'thing'.

"That thing." She insisted.

"Thing? Ginny, what are you talking about?"

Ginny gave an exasperated sigh and stalked over to Harry, tapping the contraption with her finger. "Yes, Harry, thing. If I knew what it was, don't you think I would have called it by its name? What is this _thing_?"

"Oh," He said sheepishly, "It's a CD player; a Muggle machine. It's a way of playing music."

"Music?"

"Yeah, here, just stick these in your ears and listen." Harry placed the earpieces in Ginny's ears with a minimal amount of difficulty and hit the 'play' button, causing the player to start up from where he had last been listening.

…**There was a time the pieces fit, but I watched them fall way.**

**Mildewed and smoldering, strangled by our coveting.**

**I've done the math enough to know the dangers of a second-guessing**

**Doomed to crumble unless we grow, and strengthen our communication.**

**Cold silence has a tendency to atrophy any sense of compassion…**

The music cut off as Harry hit the stop button and reclaimed the headphones from her.

"Wow, Harry, that sounds just like you and Ron." Ginny said, in awe of the little machine.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I was listening to it." Harry wrapped the CD player up in the cords for the headphones and packed both away in one of the deep pockets of his over-sized trousers.

Walking Ginny to the door, Harry paused, his hand on the doorknob. "Hey, Gin? How do you know there's going to be a masquerade ball? We haven't gotten our list of supplies yet for next year, and they wouldn't mention something like that to the students this early anyway."

"Oh, that. They were talking about it at the meeting last week. Fred and George were listening in with their extendable-ears and told the rest of us about it." Ginny shrugged. "It sounds like fun to me."

"It probably will be, but what meeting, Gin? And what are extendable-ears?" Harry insisted.

"The Order of the Phoenix meets here once or twice a week, and we're all here 'cuz Mum and Dad are both members. Come to think of it, so are Bill and Charlie, though Charlie can't always come, because he's taking care of the dragons. The twins came up with the extendable ears as a way of listening in to people's conversations, and they used it on the Order until Mum caught them at it and put an imperturbable charm on the door." She smiled brightly up at him. "Professor Dumbledore even comes sometimes. He was here this morning."

"I know." Harry said, his thoughts wandering off. "Thanks, Gin, I'll see you later, huh?"

"Sure, Harry."

Harry closed the door after her and reached into his trouser pockets, retrieving his CD player, placing the earphones in his ears and starting up the music. Order of the Phoenix? That was on the paper Harry read just before arriving at Number 12, Grimmauld Place; just another thing to add on to the list of questions to ask Dumbledore when he came back.

ooOO00OOoo

The song Harry let Ginny listen to is called 'Schism' and is sung by Tool. Good stuff, good stuff. Tootles!


	6. Second Thoughts

Chapter 6: Second Thoughts

Hermione gave a frustrated sigh and pushed her potions text away. Studying always helped her clear her mind and organize her thoughts, but that didn't seem to be happening today. Taking her quill and absently running the smooth feather back and forth across her lips, Hermione considered the situation.

Harry and Ron were having problems; that much was obvious, and had been for some time. Ron had been badgering Hermione all summer about Harry and his actions, claiming that Harry truly was the glory hound the _Daily Prophet_ made him out to be. Where he had gotten that idea, she wasn't really sure. In fact, she had a sneaky suspicion that he was just jealous of Harry and had let that jealousy overrun him.

But how to confirm that?

Talking to Ron about Harry wasn't working at all; point of fact, it hadn't worked all summer. He would simply turn a deaf ear, or change the subject, ignoring anything she said unless it pertained to Quiddich, his continual topic-of-choice. She wasn't going to get any information out of him.

But what about Harry?

He had seemed shocked at what Ron had said, and though he'd covered it up quickly, she'd seen a momentary betrayed look before it hardened into determination and then was subsequently wiped from his face like marks from a chalkboard. And then he'd stood to his feet with a grace she hadn't known he'd possessed and had told Ron to face up to his actions and then _broke things off_ with him without so much as batting an eye.

Then again, neither had Ron. Perhaps he had been expecting Harry to cut things off, or maybe he was going to do it himself?

Hermione frowned, and set her left elbow on the table in front of her, absently bringing her hand up to her head and running her fingers through her hair, separating out a single curl and bringing it around her shoulder where she mindlessly twirled it around one finger.

Why had Harry cut things off? And what was that look of determination about? Hadn't he said something about not letting people walk all over him? Perhaps, she thought, that was what Harry thought Ron had been trying to do, and he was willing to cut things off with Ron because of it.

Reversing the direction her finger was spinning, Hermione began to unwind it from the coils of her hair, frowning as her thoughts spiraled outward as well. There was something missing here, some larger picture that she just wasn't seeing. Casting her thoughts back to the brief conversation she and Ginny had had with him before Ron's spell timed out, Hermione began to pick apart the things Harry had said and done, searching for subtle nuances and careful phrasing that he was so fond of using to keep his friends in the dark.

Maybe…maybe it had more to do with what had happened the night before than with what Ron had said. Both Ron and Harry were terribly impulsive people, not always bothering to think things through before jumping into something, and Harry might have done something like that the night before when he ran away. But what exactly happened? Sure, the Ministry threatened to break his wand, but that couldn't be the only reason he had run. After all, Harry had more faith in the Headmaster than that.

So, something happened to Harry that made him stop trusting people, even Ron –and perhaps Hermione – and the Headmaster, he takes nothing on faith now. Yet he took Ron's words at face value, not the actions of some one who didn't trust anyone.

"This doesn't make any sense!" She groused, frustrated with her inability to bring some form of logic into the equation. She simply did not have enough information.

_Well, if I need more information, I might as well to talk to Harry; he's the one most likely to talk to me anyway. Ron'll just demand that I agree with him _again.

Releasing her bit of hair, Hermione stood from her table and began to efficiently pack her papers away, mentally making a list of questions she wanted to ask Harry, and adding little side-notes to them as to how to get him to answer some of the more difficult ones, like how the Dursley's had treated him, and whether he had any nightmares lately. He was looking far too skinny for her liking, and those dark marks under his eyes told her he was tormented at night. Probably about Cedric.

_Poor kid._

Picking up the strap from her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, Hermione headed out the door, setting her feet firmly in the direction of Harry's room. If she went about this carefully, she just might get the answers she needed to fix this problem after all.

As she approached the door, Hermione was surprised to see Ginny coming out of his room.

"…sure, bye, Harry." She was saying as the door closed behind her.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked, slowing to a stop a few feet away.

"Hermione? I thought you were studying in the library." Ginny asked, turning to face her.

"I was, but I'm worried about Harry and Ron, I was coming to talk to Harry about it now."

"Yeah, me too. Harry says he doesn't know why Ron is mad at him, though. He _did _tell me that he was regretting his decision to stop being Ron's friend and he's planning on trying to make things up with him as soon as his temper cools off a bit more. He seems a bit depressed or distracted to me." Ginny turned her eyes to stare at the closed door to Harry's room where she could hear the faint sounds of his singing, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

"I think there's more going on here than meets the eye. Ron's jealous, of that much I'm certain, but what's going on with Harry? He overreacted a bit much to just be mad at what Ron said. Did he say anything to you about it?" Hermione asked, stepping closer to Ginny, trying to make out the words of Harry's song.

"Yeah, he said some, not much though. He seemed to have a lot on his mind." Ginny turned her head to look appraisingly at Hermione. "How about we go back to our room and talk about this? Between the two of us I'm sure we can figure out what's going on."

"That sounds like a good idea," Hermione's brow furrowed in concentration. "Is he listening to Tool?"

"Tool?"

Hermione waved her hand dismissively as she linked her arms with Ginny and turned them towards their room. "They're a Muggle rock band from America."

"He was listening to music, even let me hear some before he kicked me out. It sounded a lot like him and Ron right now."

"Really? What were the words…?" The two girls' voices disappeared down the hallway and into their room, both of them plotting and to get the two best friends back together.

oo00OO00oo

In his room, Harry put the song he'd let Ginny listen to on repeat and let it play through three times before allowing the rest of the CD to play through to completion and beginning it again. While he listened, Harry looked down at his bit of parchment with its half-completed list of questions. What else did he want to know? Thinking of something else, Harry dipped his quill in ink and scrawled it onto the paper, his thoughts moving faster than his hand could keep up.

Harry continued to add and subtract questions from his parchment, adding to some, making them more specific, and crossing out others that he'd managed to figure out on his own. Finally satisfied, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the device Dumbledore had given him, actually looking at it for the first time.

It was small, barely three pounds, made of metal, and completely spherical, without a single blemish or indentation to show where he should speak into it.

Shrugging slightly, Harry brought it to his mouth and pretended he was speaking into a microphone.

"Professor Dumbledore? I'm ready to ask you some questions now."

Moving the sphere away, Harry couldn't help but feel slightly foolish for talking to an inanimate object that had no way of responding. But the Headmaster had said that it was a one-way communication device, so apparently he wasn't going to get an answer. That also meant that he had no idea when Dumbledore would show up to answer his questions.

Glancing down at his watch, Harry was disappointed to see that it was only three o'clock. He had the whole afternoon ahead of him, and nothing to do. He packed his music away and patted a sleepy Hedwig on her head, earning a muffled coo from her. He could always go talk to someone.

Harry headed for his door and stopped short when he realized he didn't have his wand. Turning back around, he noticed that he'd left it on his bed and that, once again, Serin had wrapped himself around it.

"_Sserin!"_ He hissed, rather annoyed. _"Do _not_ wrap yoursself around my wand!"_

"_I don't ssee any reason not to."_ The reptile replied, annoyance in his tone as well. _"I told you not to leave me behind, and you were going to. You only remembered your wand."_

"_How did you know that?"_

"_Becausse,"_ Serin said, sounding insufferably smug. _"You jusst told me." _

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. No wonder snakes were the symbol of Slytherin. _"Look, I'm ssorry._" Harry said, picking up his wand and gently unwinding the adder from it. _"I'm jusst not ussed to having a companion. And you can't sstay on me at all timess, you could get hurt, or ssomeone could ssee you."_

"_Would that be ssuch a bad thing?"_ Serin asked, his tone soft and tentative, _"For ssomeone to ssee me?"_

"_It might be, little brother. Ssome humans do not ssee the elegance and nobility of ssnakes. All they ssee iss your efficiency at hunting, and they become frightened of you. Humanss have a tendency to desstroy the thingss that they are sscared of, and I do not want that to happen to you." _Harry gently ran a forefinger down the adder's spine, trying to sooth him.

"_Perhapss I sshould find a good place to hide."_

Harry chuckled sadly. _"Perhapss you sshould." _

He was looking around for a good place to hide the little reptile, though he was sad about not bringing Serin with him, when he heard Serin hiss:

"_Your hair."_

"_My, what?"_ Harry choked; sure he'd misunderstood.

"_Your hair. I'll hide in your hair."_ Serin flicked his tongue in and out of his mouth in a satisfied manner.

"_Sserin, you can't hide in my hair."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because,"_ Harry said, dismayed. _"You jusst can't."_

"_But,why?"_

"_Because…" _Harry trailed off. Why not indeed? His hair was messy enough already, nobody truly paid it any mind anymore, and it was thick enough for Serin to hide in, _if_ he could manage to stay there.

"_Do you think you'll be able to hold on?"_

"_Hold on?"_

"_Er, manage to sstay there and not fall off if I move ssuddenly?" _Harry clarified awkwardly

"_Of coursse,"_ Serin sounded insulted that he'd even ask. _"After all, I _am_ an Adder."_

"_Of coursse,"_ Harry chuckled. _"Here."_ He lifted the tiny reptile up and placed him down gently onto the top of his head, stifling a laugh as the writhing motions of Serin's coils wrapping themselves around the thick strands of his hair tickled.

When he'd stopped moving, Serin's body was wound securely through his hair, his head resting on top of his glasses where they sat on his right ear.

"_All sset?"_ He questioned with amusement. This put a whole to meaning to the term 'snake in the grass'.

"_All sset,"_ the adder replied softly, his proximity to Harry's ear making it sound almost as if he was speaking from inside of Harry's head, rather than from atop it.

"_Then letss go."_

Emerging from his room, Harry heard muffled giggling from two doors down, which he assumed was Ginny and Hermione's room. More bangs and some strange whistling sounds were coming from the twins room and Harry grimaced, quite certain that he was only going to bother them if he wanted to be transfigured into something strange. _Well, Sirius is here, I can always go catch up with him. _

Nodding silently, congratulating himself on his own genius, Harry headed down the Hallway in search of his elusive godfather.

ooOO00OOooo

A scream was once again trembling on the tip of Harry's tongue that night when he woke up suddenly from a night terror. Sitting upright in his bed, sheets against his clammy skin, Harry suffered a moment of disorientation where he was unable to identify his surroundings and he began to wonder if he had truly woken from his nightmare after all.

The sensation passed, however, when he heard the comforting hoot of Hedwig combined with Serin's gentle hissing in his ear.

"Oh, god," he said, his voice catching roughly on the scream trapped in the back of his throat. Leaning forward, Harry buried his head in his hands and opened his mouth, taking deep gulps of air, desperately trying to replace the image of Voldemort's blood-red eyes and sneering face once again pronouncing, "Kill the spare," with that of the hear and now.

When relief from the terror was not forthcoming, Harry flung the covers on his bed back and stood shakily to his feet, blindly slipping into his jeans and running shoes; preparing to once again to outrun his nightmares.

Closing the door behind him, Harry made his way down the stairwell, his quiet steps loud in the silence of predawn. As he approached the foyer door however, Harry's steps slowed as he realized that here, he would not be able to escape from his nightmares. He could not leave Grimmauld Place like he could Privet Drive; he couldn't risk letting their location being discovered, Fidelius Charm or not.

He could not run.

Dismayed, Harry turned his back against the door to freedom and slumped against it, legs giving out beneath him so that he collapsed in a pitiful heap, his thoughts turning black. "Now what?" He whispered softly into the darkness.

Harry began to think, and then desperately tried not to. He needed something, anything, to get his mind to be silent. Imagining his thoughts as words on a chalkboard, Harry began to meticulously erase them, one by one, until the board was empty.

His relief was short lived however, because as soon as it was blank, he would relax, and all of his thoughts and emotions would come crowding back in, swirling and taunting him with his inability to save Cedric, or himself, from danger; until he erased them again, fiercely concentrating on the details of the powder trail the eraser left behind, and the grooves cut into the ledge below the board for the pieces of chalk.

How long he sat there, playing a game of erasing his own thoughts, Harry did not know, but eventually other things began to intrude, things beyond that which he was trying to desperately to ignore.

Things like the fact that, his ankle was twisted at an odd angle and was beginning to hurt. Things like the fact that, the door was not smooth; but made of pieces of old wood with carvings in them that dug into his back painfully. It was cold in the foyer, he realized belatedly, and Serin had been hissing at him for some time to get up and go somewhere warm.

"I'm sorry." He gulped, and then shied away from even that. _No, no, don't say that; don't be sorry. Sorry…for Cedric; for Cho, his girlfriend; for…No! Don't think of that._

"_Get up, Wizard-mine."_ Serin insisted yet again. _"It iss cold here, for you and me. Get up and go ssomewhere warm." _

Recognizing that he was not getting through to Harry, Serin slithered around so that his head was sticking out of Harry's hair on the right side of his head and curled his body so that he could hiss directly into Harry's ear.

"_Get up,"_ he said desperately, worry increasing with every moment that his wizard remained unresponsive. _"Get up, get up, _pleasse_ get up."_

"I'm…" Harry came to, "I'm moving, Serin; don't worry."

Serin continued to hiss words of encouragement into Harry's ear, telling him to walk down the hall and towards the stairs, letting him know how warm his bed would be, how comfortable.

"_You'll be warm, not like Malfoy."_ Serin informed him.

"Wha—?" Harry jerked sideways, surprised and slightly disturbed by what Serin had said.

Not that Serin had said anything particularly evil or shocking, but it was upsetting and worrisome how sensuous Malfoy's name could be when said in parseltongue. Even considering the fact that it was Serin who was saying it.

Unfortunately, when he jerked, Harry had flung his arm out and it had connected with the wall. Normally that wouldn't be an issue, beyond a bit of pain in his fingers and wrist, but his hand had hit the bit of wall that just so happened to bear the painting of one, Mrs. Black.

"Oh, no," Harry said softly, but with dread. He remembered how loud the painting was capable of screaming, and he was standing almost on top of the thing. This would not be pretty.

"Ermph?" She said, sounding disturbingly like a living person waking up from deep sleep. "Who is it that's bothering me now? Must be one of those bloody mudbloods…"

Through the thick black curtain, Harry could almost hear Mrs. Black's mind coming to life, waking up enough to begin a new round of screeching.

"_Who iss that?"_ Serin asked, curious in his naiveté.

"Its –" Harry gulped at the sudden pause in Mrs. Black's grumbling. _"Itss Mrs. Black, the lady who wass sscreaming earlier yessterday."_

"_Oh, no," _Serin said, instantly making the connection between how loud she had been yesterday, and how close Harry was standing to Mrs. Black's portrait.

"Who's there?" Mrs. Black's portrait suddenly asked, the curtains swinging open to reveal her scowling countenance.

There was a moment where time was frozen in a strange tableau. Mrs. Black's mouth was open in a round 'o' of surprise, her lids drawn back from tiny eyes. Harry was crouching slightly, his head turned to the side as he spoke to Serin with softly hissing syllables. Serin, for his part, was looking with mild curiosity at the painting, rather like it was a small rodent that he was considering biting, approximately half an inch away from Mrs. Black's startled expression.

"_Hmm, sshe doess not ssmell alive."_ The adder noted, slithering out a little farther from Harry's hair, placing himself nose to nose with a silently shocked Mrs. Black.

Despite himself and the situation, Harry could not help but laugh at Serin's observation. _"Of coursse sshe doessn't ssmell alive, little brother. She_ issn't_ alive."_

"What is…did you…" Mrs. Black seemed to be at a loss of words, and her tone was neither patronizing nor sneering, as she struggled to express the depths of her confusion.

Harry drew himself up to his full, if a bit stunted, height, and glared at her as best he could, silently wishing he had Serin's ability to perpetually stare. "I am a parselmouth." He stated without a hint of shame. _I'll be _damned_ if I'm going to apologize for who I am to a _portrait! He thought severely.

"A parselmouth?" the portrait questioned, clearly flummoxed. "Are you a pureblood?"

Harry considered the question. Was he? He was born from both a witch and a wizard, that much was true, and his father was a pureblood, so did that make him one as well? Or did the fact that Lily Potter had come from Muggles change him to something like a three-fourths-blood?

"Yes, I am." He stated clearly, his mind made up that anything more than half was whole.

Mrs. Black's eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously, and Harry began to wonder if he was about to be subjected to a personal demonstration of her voice's range.

"A pureblood parselmouth, you say? What's your name, boy?" There was something sly about the way she said that, and it made Harry's skin crawl.

"Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter." Though he wasn't sure if he was saying the right things to prove to this woman that he was a pureblood, at least she wasn't yelling at him, yet. In fact, her voice was strangely subdued.

"Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, is a parselmouth? Oh, that's _priceless_." She cackled, her voice harsh and grating on Harry's ears.

"_At leasst sshe issn't yelling at us," _He hissed to Serin out of the corner of his mouth.

"_Perhapss, we won't have to wait long before sshe will oblige you."_ The reptile responded tersely.

"Is that your familiar, Harry Potter?"

"Excuse me?" Harry asked; startled at the polite tone the painting had used. It has sounded almost…civil.

"The snake," She repeated slowly as if talking to a child, "Is it your familiar?"

"Er…"

"_Yess."_ Serin hissed at the portrait. _"I am hiss familiar, and he iss my Wizard."_

"What was that, dear?" Mrs. Black asked of Serin kindly.

"He said that, yes he is my familiar, and I am his wizard." Harry translated, unsure as to where this conversation is going.

"He called you his Wizard?" Mrs. Black sounded impressed.

Replaying the last few exchanges in his head, Harry came to the distinct conclusion that he was missing something. Serin and Mrs. Black had both said 'Wizard' as if it had more importance and credence than the word was normally afforded.

"Er, yes, he did," Harry confirmed; then, taking a chance, "What does that mean, exactly?"

"You don't know?" Small eyes narrowed dangerously once again. "I thought you said you were a pureblood."

"I may be a pureblood, Madam," Harry bristled, "But I was orphaned at a young age, I'm sure you already knew, and have been raised by Muggles my whole life. I don't know anything about the culture and customs of the wizard world like I should."

"Hmph. Damn Muggles," She snorted. "All right, listen closely then. When a wizard takes a familiar, it is commonly a creature that is already partially magical. This allows for the formation of a familiar bond for wizards who do not have the magic to have a true familiar."

"True familiar?" Harry cocked his head to the side, puzzled.

"Hush, child, and let me talk." Somehow, Mrs. Black managed to convey the idea that she was doing him a great service in even talking to him civily, much less explaining something to him, and he should be dutifully respectful and in awe of her knowledge because of it. "To have a true familiar, a witch or wizard must have a certain amount if innate magic, and have the willingness to share a certain percentage of that magic with their familiar. A true familiar is a common, unmagical animal that becomes the life-long companion of a witch or wizard though this sharing of magic. When a person chooses a familiar, if they are lucky enough to find a true one, there must be a ceremony of sorts, specific to each bonding pair, in which they both accept the companionship of the other. It is during this time that the exchange of magic takes place, and several things happen. The familiar gains the ability to understand their bonded's language, even if they can't always grasp the concepts, they become more intelligent – to a degree – and they become very protective of their bonded. In some rare cases," Here she gestured at Harry and Serin, "The familiar forms a deep attachment with their partner and they give their bonded an honorific of Witch or Wizard, obviously dependant on the gender."

"Wow, Serin, did you know all that?" Harry asked the snake, rather stunned at this new revelation.

"_No, I did not. Though I _did _know I wass ssuppossed to undersstand your language, sso that did not come ass a ssurprisse to me."_ Serin seemed to find the whole thing rather boring, and he quickly retreated into Harry's hair, having determined that the painting was neither alive, nor was it going to begin screeching at him. _"I am tired, time to ssleep."_

Harry suppressed a chuckle, certain that Serin would be insulted if he laughed. "Good night, Madam" Harry said, sweeping an imaginary hat off from atop his head and giving Mrs. Black a courtly bow. "I truly appreciate the information you have shared with us this night, and I apologize for waking you up so early. Please, do not let us bother you anymore."

"Hmph. I should hope not." She said scathingly, though her volume did not rise above that of a low whisper. Settling herself in her frame, Mrs. Black closed her eyes while Harry silently, and courteously, brought the heavy black drapes back across her portrait.

It wasn't until later, when Harry was drifting off to sleep in his bed, that he realized that he'd actually had a civil conversation with Mrs. Black, and had, in fact, gotten some rather valuable information out of the woman. To sweeten the bargain, he thought with the last of his cognitive abilities before he settled into peaceful dreams, he hadn't had to outrun his nightmares.

ooOO00OOoo

The following day, the Headmaster returned to Grimmauld Place and shared much of the information with Harry that he had been unwilling to divulge the day before.

Voldemort, it seemed, had done more to Harry than give him a scar when he had tried to kill Harry fourteen years ago. He had transferred some of his power over to Harry, which was probably why Harry was a parselmouth, and had created a link of sorts with him, which was why Harry had sometimes had visions of things Voldemort had been doing when the bastard had extremes of emotions.

To protect Harry from these visions, and to prevent Voldemort from using the connection to gain access into _Harry's_ mind, Dumbledore wanted Harry to learn something called Occlumency, which was a type of wandless magic that protected one's mind from intrusion. Which was all fine and dandy except for one thing: Dumbledore wanted Harry to learn from Professor Snape.

Professor Snape: the one and only teacher that had hated Harry on sight.

Though he'd argued against learning from the man, citing everything from their differences, to their similarities with explosive tempers, Dumbledore had remained firm, and had informed Harry in no uncertain terms, that if he wanted to be treated as an adult, then he would be treated as an adult. Which translated in Harry's mind to 'Snape is too much of a child to put the past behind him; so it is up to you to be the adult.'

Though awfully amusing, that still didn't change the fact that Harry was going to be taking Occlumency lessons from Professor Snape two times a week under the cover of 'Remedial Potions', which was horrendously humiliating. The only good thing about it was that Harry had managed to convince the Headmaster to allow Harry to wait until after Christmas to begin the lessons, hoping that they truly would not be necessary.

After arguing Harry to an impasse, and getting his reluctant agreement to follow Professor Snape's instructions to the best of his ability when the lessons began – which had taken the better part of an hour – Dumbledore had sat back in his chair, eyes twinkling madly, and had asked Harry what other questions he had.

Questions? Oh, Harry had questions.

First and foremost, Harry had wanted to know why he had survived the Killing Curse that fateful day fourteen years ago. If so many other good witches and wizards had fallen under that bright flash of green light, Harry's Mum and Dad included, how is it that he, barely a year old at the time, had survived?

The answer had been heart-wrenchingly painful in its simplicity: his Mother.

Lily Potter had given her life to save Harry, and in the process, invoked deep ancient magics that were part of the stream that tied all living and non-living entities together. When pressed for more information, Dumbledore had confessed that he truly didn't know _how_ Lily had done it, only that she had, and he'd shrugged noncommittally; chalking it up to her superb instincts and understanding of all transfigurations and charms.

This was why, the Headmaster had gone on to explain, Harry had to go back to the Dursley's every summer and stayed there for a few weeks before being allowed to stay with the Weasley's or, as demonstrated this summer, to come to Grimmauld Place. So long as Harry was a minor in the wizard world, and so long as he could still claim shelter from a blood relative of his mother's, Harry was safe; the old magics invoked with Lily's death would still be in effect and Voldemort would be unable to harm Harry.

This, Dumbledore claimed, was the cause of Professor Quirrel's death in Harry's first year at Hogwarts, when the Voldemort-possessed man had attacked Harry, only to have his skin burn where it came into contact with Harry's.

When asked about the blood Harry had been forced to donate to Voldemort's…resurrection the previous school year, the Headmaster had turned pensive, his thoughts whirling about for a moment, much like many of the items in the Room of Shiny and Spinny Things, as Harry had come to call it.

Eventually, he had admitted that, though he'd thought long and hard on the matter over the summer, Dumbledore had been unable to come to some definitive answer as to what sort of effect the blood donation had upon Harry's protection. Staying on the safe side of things, he'd returned Harry to the Dursley's and posted a guard around him, trying to ensure that he'd covered all his bases.

It was then that Dumbledore had begun to apologize to Harry for keeping these things from Harry, and from isolating him from information about the Death Eater attacks. He informed Harry that in one of the attacks, one of the victims was a Master Occlumencer and had managed to form a shield over one of the last thing's he had seen while alive, and preserve that image just under the surface of his mind so that when another Occlumencer or, even better, a Master Legllimencer (which, it turned out was the flip side of Occlumency: the actual act and technique of breaking into someone else's mind) happened to touch his corpse, they would receive the protected thought and image, allowing him to incriminate his attackers from the grave.

A Master had indeed touched his corpse and received the thought, and Lucius Malfoy was now enjoying the pleasures of a small stone cell on Azkaban. Voldemort, the Headmaster had continued with a chuckle, was rather angry with Lucius at the moment and he was probably safer in the hands of the Ministry than in the Dark Lord's.

Most of this Harry had already heard from Sirius the night before when the two of them had a heart to heart about what Sirius had been up to during the summer, and how Harry had been affected by the things he'd seen and done the year before. Still, Harry had appreciated the different points of view he received from Dumbledore, plus the extra information as well, as he provided some details that Sirius had been unable, or unwilling, to divulge.

In response to Harry's question about the 'power the Dark Lord knows not' Dumbledore had shaken his head sadly and informed Harry that, though he had some ideas, he was not willing to share them at the moment, because most of them were discarded even as he thought them. After all, the ability to blow abnormally large bubbles from a soap and water mixture was a power the Dark Lord wouldn't know about, but also rather useless for stopping him. Though it would make Harry a hit at children's birthday parties.

Dumbledore _was_ willing to inform Harry about the extraordinarily powerful, and long, use of wish magic that he had used two nights previous. Apparently, Harry's wish to escape from the Ministry had been so complete, for so long, that he had actually been able to confound both the Order members searching for Harry, and the owls that delivered the post, for a period of about four hours.

It wasn't until he had stopped to rest on the side of the road, that the wish magic had dissipated, allowing both the owls and the 'retrieval squad' to locate him, accounting for the bizarre time lapse between the sending and the delivery of the letters.

Noise from the foyer, namely a screeching hag, had interrupted their talk and Dumbledore had apologetically told him that their meeting must be over for now because the Headmaster had an Order meeting to attend. Even so, he had paused long enough to inform Harry that the Order of the Phoenix was a secret organization he had founded at Voldemort's last bid for power in direct retaliation to his reign of terror. At the Dark Lord's return, Dumbledore had reinstated old members, and had even acquired some new ones, and now was actively fighting the Dark Lord through various means.

Albus Dumbledore had smiled then, his eyes twinkling merrily, and had advised Harry not to worry overly much about things for the remainder of the summer. Though Harry acted like an adult for the most part, and was now being treated like one, at least by the Headmaster; he was asked not to forget the fact that he was also a fifteen year old boy, and, if he could find it in his heart, he should try to enjoy the rest of his summer, if not for his own sake, then for the sake of an old man who wished to relive his youth vicariously through Harry. Unable to deny the Headmaster such a simple request, especially since he'd been planning just that sort of thing anyway, Harry had agreed easily and had gotten a warm, though short, hug from Dumbledore in response.

Now, Harry was doing just that, laughing and joking along with the twins, who were halfway to convincing him to be a beta tester of their jokes and costumes along with Ginny.

Ron had finally been allowed out of his room while Harry had been talking with the Headmaster, and the two of them had run into each other in the hallway shortly thereafter. Harry had tried to take advantage of the situation and apologize to Ron, but the stubborn redhead wouldn't hear of it, and had left before Harry could properly explain.

Hermione and Ginny, who had watched sadly from their room, had told him that perhaps it was just too soon to try to talk to Ron just yet; maybe he should give Ron time to cool down before attempting to patch things up. Harry had agreed sadly and left.

"…ooo, _helloooo! _Harry!"

Harry jerked suddenly and sent the deck of cards he had been playing with scattering all about the floor.

The twins laughed at Harry as he smiled sheepishly and began to retrieve the scattered cards. "Er, sorry about that guys, guess I was woolgathering."

"Yeah, well, try not to do that anymore, or we'll just test stuff on you without you noticing!" Fred laughed as he scooped up some cards from beneath George's bed.

"How are things coming with the shop?" Harry asked, settling the cards in some semblance of order.

"Very well, thank you!" George beamed at him. "We've almost got enough money to start the shop thanks to you. All we need to do is sell a couple more things, perfect a few others, and we'll rent a space in Diagon alley. We already have our eyes on this one spot."

"There's an apothecary there at the moment, but it doesn't look like it's doing too well." Fred took his wand and turned it on the knickknacks sitting on his bed, muttering spells under his breath.

"Hopefully, it will be available by the time we go looking, because it's in a prime position, with lots of traffic passing by." George went over to the closet and retrieved a few items, bringing them over for Harry's inspection.

"What do you think?"

Harry peered over the edge of the box George was holding and inspected the small, oblong, bi-colored objects laying scattered at the bottom. "Erm, wonderful. What are they?"

"Skiving Snackboxes. Named 'em myself." Fred finished his incantations and wandered over. Reaching in the box, he retrieved one that was red and yellow, holding it up before Harry's eyes. "This one is a nose-bleed nougat."

"Let me guess. It makes your nose bleed?" Harry took the tiny object and turned it over in his hand.

"Exactly." George said, fishing around the box for another one. "All you do is nibble on the red end, and your nose will begin bleeding, allowing you to skiv off class to go to the hospital wing."

"Then, when you get out," Fred continued "you just eat the rest of the yellow end and, voila! No more nose-bleed, allowing you to do whatever you feel like."

"Ah, ha!" George crowed, having located a second nose-bleed nougat. Biting off the red end, he paused a moment before, sure enough, his nose began to bleed, and rather spectacularly too. Fred held a towel to his nose while George ate the yellow end, and suddenly – like magic – Fred's bleeding nose stopped.

"You see," George picked up the narration, "they work rather well. Or at least the nose-bleed version does. We're having some trouble with the vomit one because it's hard to stop puking long enough to eat the other half of the pill."

"So we're not entirely sure that it works." Fred finished.

"But there's all sorts of different types of Skiving Snackboxes now. Some make your nose bleed, others make you vomit…" Said George.

"Some make you cough, some make you cry…" Fred said.

"And we even have one that turns your skin green, for use in potions." They said together.

Harry laughed and returned his Nosebleed Nougat to the box. "You guys are amazing. How do you come up with all of these things?"

Fred shrugged as George returned the box to its hiding place in the closet. "Various things. Mostly we just think up harmless stuff to do to other people and try to make it happen. The Snackboxes came from our love of skiving off class."

"_Wizard-mine?_" Serin cut in softly from his position on top of Harry's head. _"Perhapss we could go ssomewhere else? I am very hungry and thirssty."_

"Oh, no!" Harry said, momentarily forgetting about the twins, appalled at his lack of concern for Serin. What sort of wizard was he to Serin if he completely forgot to give him food and water for three days?

"What's wrong, Harry?" One of the twins asked, Harry didn't know which.

"I'm a moron, that's what." Harry responded, shaking his head in agitation. "Look, guys, this is great, but I gotta go, um, I gotta go."

As Harry left the room, the twins' looked at each other for a moment in trepidation before nodding silently at each other and following Harry.

The moment he was back in the hallway, Harry reached his hands up to his head and took Serin down, cuddling the little adder in his hands and stroking him gently on his spine. _"I'm sso ssorry, Little Brother."_ He hissed contritely. _"I sshould have been paying attention to you."_

"_It iss no problem, Wizard-mine."_ Serin responded, gently nuzzling Harry's palm. _"I have not been hungry or thirssty until now. We adders can ussually go longer without food or drink, but I am young yet, and sstill growing."_ He said the last bit with some embarrassment.

"_Well, don't worry."_ Harry said as he walked into his room, determined that he would take care of Serin, just like he said he would. _"I'll get you ssomething. For now, I'll jusst – oh. Maybe not."_

Harry stopped in dismay as he saw the state of Hedwig's cage. He had fully intended to place Serin at the bottom and allow him to drink from Hedwig's bowl of water, but had been shocked to see that the bottom of her cage was filled with shed feathers and droppings, and that her bowl of water was bone-dry.

"Oh, no, Hedwig. I'm so sorry. I've been neglecting you for the last couple of days, haven't I? If I'm not complaining to you, I'm off talking to someone else, and I've completely ignored your needs." Harry set Serin on his bed and turned to Hedwig, who was looking at him rather crossly. "I know girl, I'm sorry. But I'll fix things right now, I promise."

As Hedwig flew out of her cage to sit on his bed, Harry was dismayed to hear the distinct sounds of someone 'tisk-ing' from his doorway.

"Now, now, Harry. You should know better than to let your owl and your – snake? Go hungry and thirsty." Fred said, coming into the room.

"And such squalor!" George said, with a mischievous grin. "How could you?"

"Fred! George!" Harry squeaked, unable to stop himself from looking guiltily at Serin, "Uh, what are you two doing here? I thought you had costumes to design."

"We do." George answered. "But you were acting kind of odd."

"So we decided to do the right thing and follow you." Fred said, walking over to where Serin lay coiled on Harry's bed. "Who's this?"

"Uh, that's Serin. He's, uh, my, uh…"

"Familiar? Wow, Harry. You have two familiars? It takes a lot of power to have one familiar, much less two. Where did you get him?" George, too, walked over to Harry's bed and joined his brother in leaning over to inspect the small serpent, both very carefully _not_ touching it.

"My familiar, yeah…" Harry trailed off, taken aback as to the twins reactions. Up until now, Harry had been keeping Serin a secret because he was not sure how people would react to him having a snake. After all, the only other parselmouth in existence was Voldemort, and he'd already been unfavorably compared with the bastard because they shared that trait. "Are you guys…okay with that?"

"Okay with it? Of course we're okay with it, Harry." Fred said.

"We understand how confused you might be, after all, some people were really mad at you during your second year when they found out you were a parselmouth, but we were just surprised you never got a snake before now." George informed him matter-of-factly.

"Oh," Harry said in a small voice, then louder, "Thanks guys. This means a lot to me. Here." He walked over to his bed and scooped Serin up, cradling the serpent in one hand. "Serin, this is Fred and George Weasley, they're some of Ron's older brothers. Fred, George, this is Serin, my friend."

"Nice to meet you." The twins intoned together.

"_Likewisse."_ Serin responded.

"He says, 'likewise'" Harry translated, absently petting the little serpent in his hand.

"So, tell us about him." Fred asked, flopping down onto Harry's bed, giving Hedwig an absent-minded "Hey, girl," on his way down.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," George made himself comfortable on the floor.

"First I gotta feed Serin and get him some water. I've had him for three days and I'm not gonna ignore him or Hedwig any longer." Harry placed Serin back on top of his head and turned to clean Hedwig's cage.

"Scourgify!"

Harry wasn't sure which twin had said the spell, and it truly didn't matter, but now Hedwig's cage was perfectly clean, and it even had new linens at the bottom. "Neat! Thanks guys. How about some water?" He asked, holding up the empty dish.

Fred waved his wand negligently in Harry's direction, mumbling something under his breath, and the bowl filled with water.

"Thanks, Fred. Here you go, Serin. Have some water. I don't know what to do about food for now though. Any suggestions?" Harry posed his question to the room in general.

"_Jusst place me next to the wall."_ Serin suggested when he'd drunk his fill. _"I can ssmell mice from here. I sshall hunt ssoon."_

"Can you do that?" Harry asked, doing as Serin had bid.

"_Of coursse."_ Serin was affronted. _"I am an Adder, Harry. Have no fear."_ He assured Harry. _"The mice will feel no pain. I'll be back ssoon."_ So saying, Serin slithered along the wall to a crack in the plaster and disappeared inside.

Harry laughed and rolled his eyes, calling after the rapidly disappearing reptile, "Silly snake. I wasn't asking about the mice, I was asking about your ability to hunt. When you bit Vernon you told me you weren't sure if you knew how to do the bite-of-death."

"What? Serin bit your Uncle? Now you've got to tell us everything," George sat up from where he'd sprawled himself on the floor, ready to listen attentively.

"All right," Harry said with another laugh. "Serin is off hunting, so we have some time." Grabbing his chair and twirling it so that it was facing him, Harry straddled it backwards and laid his forearms along the upright back of the chair. "I met Serin three days ago around 7:30 in the morning when I was weeding the flowerbeds…"

ooOO00OOoo

I would like to take this time to thank all of the people who have taken the time to review my story. I am finding, to my chagrin that I live for the little note in my inbox that tells me I've just gotten a review. Sad and pathetic I know, but I wanted my beloved readers to know that I appreciate each and every review I've gotten. Thank you so much to all of you. See you next time. Tootles!


	7. Speaking and Hearing

Chapter 7: Speaking and Hearing

A/n: EVERYONE READ THIS!! Ok, now that I have your attention, I've gotten several reviews (yay! Jump and squeal) that have asked me about Draco and when he'd be showing up. Don't worry, he'll be showing up in less than three chapters. I just had tons of stuff to set up and only a couple more things to go. Things will get interesting quickly after that. Tootles!

ooOO00OOoo

The days following the twins' discovery of Serin were filled with a strange sort of joy for Harry. He was relieved, of course, that they did not think him evil for having a snake familiar, especially since being a parselmouth was usually considered a Dark Art, but it brought home the fact that he would not be able to hide Serin's existence forever.

Indeed, Hermione now knew about Serin as well, she had cornered him in the hallway and demanded to know about the snake that she _knew_ was hiding in his hair. Harry had denied such a thing, but he hadn't been able to keep his hands from guiltily rising to his head.

Hermione had simply smiled sweetly and proceeded to tell him what she _thought_ had happened; a rather remarkable story that was very nearly correct. After admitting to everything, and translating between Hermione and Serin quite a bit, Serin decided that she was "_Fine, for a human."_ Which amused her to no end.

Fred and George had shown up then, and unceremoniously hauled Harry and Hermione into their room, telling them not to talk about such things in the hallway like a group of gossiping schoolgirls.

When Harry had removed Serin from his head and attempted to pass him to Hermione, she had clasped her hands firmly behind her back, stared into Harry's eyes, instead of looking at the proffered snake, and said in a strangled sort of tone that Serin was a very _nice_ snake.

The twins, of course, caught on immediately that she didn't like snakes and began to pester her mercilessly about it. When Harry had reminded them that they hadn't touched Serin when they'd first met him either, they had simply laughed, and stated that that was different, they hadn't wanted to offend Harry. To prove themselves, they each took a turn holding Serin briefly before passing him back to Harry.

Having proven their bravery, the twins went back to pestering Hermione, who finally caved and reluctantly took the reptile into her hands.

Once she did, however, Hermione was surprised to discover that Serin's scales were smooth and dry, not at all slimy like she had thought they'd be, and when she stroked him, at Serin's request, she was rewarded with a remarkable reptilian purr of contentment. That was it.

Hermione was in love.

Fred and George had been immensely amused by this and had been unable to resist crowing, "Hermy's in love with Harry's snake!"

Harry and Hermione had blushed, and Serin was quickly returned to the forest of Harry's hair, where he curled up and napped contentedly, unconcerned about his Wizard's acute embarrassment.

Over all though, Hermione was rather taken with Serin and by the end, Harry was reasonably certain that he was not going to lose Hermione's friendship.

More days passed, and Harry became progressively more and more nervous as the date for his hearing drew closer.

The morning of dawned bright and cold, finding Harry already up and dressed, as per his nightly routine. The night before, Mrs. Black had decided she hated what the Ministry had tried to do to Harry (apparently, the Ministry was _always_ wrong in her eyes), more than she hated Harry himself, and had told him as much. Putting actions to words, Mrs. Black pointed Harry to a secret alcove in the library that held old law books (and other things Harry had not been brave enough to inspect) and told him to read up on different cases, to solidify his defense.

Not having the heart to break their tentative nighttime truce, Harry had obediently done so, not mentioning that Hermione was already drilling him on what he should say and do.

It had been a good thing too, because Harry found a book detailing the exceptions in the laws that allowed for underage magic to be performed "in extremes of danger or threat of personal harm." To his delight, Harry even found a bit of parchment, slipped between the last pages of the final chapter, that contained the words of a spell that was designed to remove the detection spell placed on all minors' wands.

Harry grimaced as he remembered the dressing down Mrs. Black ha given him when he'd almost attempted the spell:

"You foolish boy! Don't you realize that to take off the restriction for under-age magic, you have to _perform_ under-age magic?" Her tone had been that of sharpest diamond, contained the frigidity of glaciers, and conveyed her overwhelming disbelief and horror that _this_ was a pureblood.

It hadn't been one of his smartest ideas.

After pondering the sun's position in the sky, Harry decided that it was late enough that he could go down to breakfast without raising questions about this sleeping habits.

As he approached the dining room door, Harry was met once again by the sound of bickering. Peeking his head through the doorway, Harry was unsurprised to discover that Fred, George, and Ron were the noisemakers.

After the split between Harry and Ron, Fred and George had taken it upon themselves to make Ron's life a living Hell, beginning one of the most subtle, and vicious, prank wars to date. Ron, outnumbered, found himself ill equipped to handle the twins' double ire, and was frequently on the losing end of their battles.

Now, it seemed, Ron had managed to turn the tables on Fred and George, feeding them two of their own prank items, resulting in Fred acquiring a large, round, and glowing red nose, and in George's ears growing to ten inches long, so that they gave his head a pinched-in appearance.

Harry could not restrain his grin as he sat down next to Ginny. Really, it wasn't his fault they reminded him of…

"So, Fred, how's Santa doing? The other reindeer treating you any better?" He quipped. When Hermione began to laugh, Harry turned to George and asked, "Seen any pink elephants lately?"

Their looks of confusion were made comical by their ridiculous appendages, which only heightened the amusement of the two Muggle-raised magic users. Harry began to laugh along with Hermione, which caused her to laugh all the harder. The two of them fed off of each other until they were red-faced and gasping, holding their sides where they hurt, doubling over the tabletop, as they giggled uncontrollably.

By the time the two of them had managed to rein in their mirth, Fred and George had returned to their usual appearance and the meal was progressing as normal. Or as normal as could be expected with two people having fits of hysterics in their midst.

Still chuckling, and trying desperately not to look at each other lest they go off again, Harry and Hermione slowly began to insert themselves into the conversations at the table.

"No pink or green," Ginny was saying, "That's all I'm asking for."

"What's this about pink and green?" Hermione interjected.

"That's just it, _nothing_ about pink and green." Ginny turned to Hermione and looked pleadingly at her. "Tell them, Hermione. No pink or green."

"Erm, no pink or green." Hermione repeated dutifully.

"See? Hermione agrees with me." Ginny turned back to the twins with a flourish.

"That's only because she doesn't know what she's agreeing to." Fred waved his hand as if batting aside a troublesome fly. "Ginny doesn't want her Halloween costume to have the colors pink or green, but, honestly, how can you have a fairy without at least _one _of those colors?"

"Ginny can wear whatever colors she wants to the ball." Ron cut in from his position at the end of the table. "And she'll be pretty in them, too."

Harry couldn't help but wonder if Ron was defending Ginny because he honestly thought she should wear whatever she wanted, or if he was only doing it because it meant defying the twins.

"Thanks, Ron." Ginny said, blowing her brother a kiss.

_Either way, it doesn't really matter._ Harry decided as he absently loaded his plate with porridge. _It's good to see that this split between me and him won't tear him away from his family._ Harry glanced at Fred and George who were chattering as if Ron wasn't in the room. _Maybe I can talk Fred and George into laying off him a bit, I don't want them to become enemies over this._

Suddenly, Ron began to cough, doubling over the table, one hand at his throat, the other braced on the table to keep his face from being introduced to his bowl of cereal.

"Ron!" Came the collective cry of concern from the table, and Harry was no exception.

George turned to Ron, who was sitting on his right side, and began to pound him vigorously on his back, eventually dislodging a raisin that had gotten lodged in the back of Ron's throat. "You okay, mate?"

Still gasping for air, and rubbing his throat with one hand, Ron gave George a feeble smile, which was returned.

Harry grinned, maybe he wouldn't have to talk to the twin's after all. Bringing his spoon to his lips, Harry took a bite of his porridge, causing Fred to grimace.

"How you eat that stuff, I will never understand."

Harry gave a one-shoulder shrug and took another bite. "I ate a lot of it when I was younger. It's cheap, thick, and lasts you a while."

"Meaning they didn't have to feed you as much."

Harry shrugged again and glanced around the room uncomfortably. This really wasn't something he wanted to be talking about. It was done, and in the past, why worry about it?

"Harry—" Hermione began.

"No." Harry cut her off quickly. "I don't want to talk about it. ("Surprise, surprise," mumbled Ron.) It's over, I'm here, not there, and honestly, I've got more important things to worry about."

"That's right, isn't your hearing today?" Ginny asked.

"Yes it is." Hermione said before Harry could steer the subject away. "But he'll be fine, he didn't do anything wrong. Well," She rushed on before Ron could say anything, "he did run from the Ministry, but they probably don't know that."

"How can you say that?" Ron cried, "They're the Ministry, of _course_ they know about it. They just won't do anything because he's the bloody boy-who-lived!"

Harry ducked his head and focused on his porridge, hoping that he could keep his mouth full and closed.

"Ron, don't say such things." Hermione admonished without any real hope of having Ron listen.

"What are you going to be for the ball, Hermione?" Ginny asked, hoping to head off an argument between the rapidly disintegrating couple.

_Bless you, Ginny._ Harry thought, as he brought another spoonful of porridge to his mouth. Sliding the thick substance over his tongue, Harry felt a lump of something hard and bit down. _Mrs. Weasley must not have boiled the oats long enough._

The lump of something, however, was not oats, as he discovered to his consternation. A strange tingling sensation went through his mouth, and Harry struggled with his suddenly numb tongue to spit the offending object out of his mouth. Harry stuck his tongue out and scraped the lump off, gasping in dismay when he discovered his tongue extending beyond its normal proportions to lie on the table.

"Wha ethow?" Harry's cry came out inarticulate, though his meaning was clear.

"Harry?"

Silence reigned on the table as everyone stared, dumbfounded, at the pink, slimy thing that extended from Harry's mouth and lay on the table in a rapidly spreading pool of saliva.

A muffled snort was heard, though Harry found he could not turn his head to see who it was, and was reduced to staring with wide, shocked eyes at Hermione who sat across the table from him. A second snort sounded into the silence of the room before the entire table, with the exception of the witch sitting across from him, burst into peals of laughter.

Harry rolled his eyes and valiantly attempted to gather up his tongue from where it lay uselessly on the table. It was horribly slippery, and in the end, he settled for rolling it up like a piece of old newspaper, which was rather uncomfortable, but it was better than having the taste of table on his tongue.

"Fred! George! Fix him!" Hermione cried over the din of laughing voices.

"No can do, Hermy." Fred laughed. "Harry will just have to wait it out like everyone else."

"He can't, you nitwit!" Hermione turned to her right and poked George in his ribs sharply with one long-nailed finger. "He's got a _hearing_ to go to today, or have you forgotten? Your dad is coming here in less than half an hour to pick him up! He has to be able to talk at the hearing. Fix it!"

The twins and Ginny instantly sobered, though Ron could be heard cackling in the background.

"We can't, Hermione." Fred said, "It's timed, that's just the way these things go."

"No it isn't." She insisted. "I know I could figure out how to fix it, so you'll just have to."

"Gred?" George called. "What about the you-know-what?"

"I don't know." Fred frowned. "It hasn't been fully tested yet."

"What better time than now? At least it won't make things worse." George waved his hand in Harry's direction.

Harry let out a strangled sound, and waved one hand in the air as if to say 'can we hurry this up?'

"Sure, Forge. Why not?" Fred said with a shrug before exiting the room post haste. He returned momentarily, clumping noisily down the stairs and provoking the ire of Mrs. Black. "Here, Gin." He said, as he re-entered the room. "Would you like to do the honors?"

"Sure." Ginny said, standing from her seat at Harry's side and taking an object from Fred's hands. (Harry couldn't really see what it was, he had a rolled-up tongue in the way.) Settling herself next to him again, Ginny turned to Harry, and he had a vague impression of darkness descending before the world blacked out, save for a small, broken sliver of light at the bottom of his range of view.

"Hughuh?" He asked gracefully.

"It's a hat, Harry. Don't move." Ginny's disembodied voice informed him.

"….do you think?" Harry heard one of the twins ask.

"Maybe. We could always try…" the other responded.

"No, I don't think so. What with the…"

"That's true. Well, okay then, sideways first?"

"Yeah, count of two? One…two..."

Harry sat there nervously as the twins mumbled strange incantations under their breath, presumably to remove the effects of their ton-tongue taffy. Serin, being the over-protective familiar that he was, spent the entire time berating himself for not noticing the taffy in the porridge. Harry took advantage of the fact that he had a oversized hat on his head and assured Serin that he had no way of knowing, and that things would be ok. _I hope, _he added mentally to himself. At least the over-sized tongue still allowed him to hiss, if a bit sloppily.

Eventually, after much squirming on Harry's part, and two or three more muffled conversations from the twins, Harry was relieved to finally feel his tongue slowly shrink down to its normal size and actually _fit _inside of his mouth.

Once both hands were free, Harry reached up and yanked his hat off, sending a death glare in Ron's direction.

"Did you have to be such an ass?" Harry asked of him crossly.

"An ass? Where do you get of calling me an ass? I haven't even said anything to you today!" Ron's face turned red.

"You put the taffy in my porridge." Harry accused.

"Don't accuse me of something you have no proof of." Ron answered harshly. "You're the one who's trying to turn my family against me."

"What? I _never_ wanted to turn anyone against you, in fact, I _hope_ things stay golden between all of the Weasleys!" Harry protested, truly getting his hackles up.

"That's what you _say_ but—"

"But nothing Ron! I've tried telling you this before, but you just won't listen, I _want_ you to stay on good terms with your family. And it isn't my fault that you—"

"What? That I'm an insufferable prick? That I can't stand that you are such a glory hound? That I see through you to the fact that you _need_ attention like most people need food and water? You have to be the center of attention, you always have." Ron spat.

"No, I don't! I just try to do what's best, and that usually gets me in the thick of things, I'm sorry if I have conscience." Harry waved his hands around.

The argument was quickly making everyone in the room nervous.

"If you had a conscience, you wouldn't have run from the ministry that night, you wouldn't have done magic, and you would have _asked _for help." Ron glowered at Harry, stabbing into his meal viciously with his fork.

"Help? What did you want me to do? Turn to Vernon and say, 'Sorry 'bout this old chap, but would you mind hiding me from the Ministry for a while? There seems to be a bit of a mix-up.'"

"Don't be stupid, Harry. Of course not." Ron's face was flushed with anger. "I just wanted you to think before you run off and get into a world of trouble again."

"Oh, that's just rich, coming from you." Harry snorted. "You are the epitome of a hot-headed brash old fool."

"You see?" Ron cried, looking around at everyone else at the table in triumph. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. I express concern for the fact that Harry could have gotten into trouble, and he throws it back into my face. He _likes_ the trouble, and the attention it get him, he wouldn't know what to do without it."

"That's not true, Ron, and you know it." Harry said softly.

"Do I? You haven't done anything to prove me wrong yet. You're just a selfish, arrogant, stuck-up prick like always. I've just had enough of it." Ron said spitefully.

"How _dare_ you—" Harry began.

"Harry could I talk to you for a moment?" Ginny said, rather too loudly.

Harry opened his mouth to again respond to Ron, then closed it and shook his head roughly. "Fine." Standing from the table, Harry made his way to the door following Ginny, keeping his eyes carefully trained away from Ron.

Ginny led Harry through the doors and into the foyer where she paused and leaned against the wall, her arms crossed defensively across her chest. "Harry? Did you have to be such an ass?" She asked mimicking his earlier question to Ron.

"What?" Harry cried, his volume rising alarmingly so that Ginny unfolded her arms and made a palms-down gesture at him and hissed "Shh!" at him. "What?" He asked in a more normal tone of voice, though it was still filled with indignation. "How can you say that?"

"Harry," she said, "I managed to get all of the planets to align and have Ron promise to not be evil to you unless you are to him."

"What? How does that make me an ass?"

"_Harry_," she said with over exaggerated patience, "you said, and I quote, 'Did you have to be such an ass?' I think that counts as being evil."

"Ginny, he fed me a ton-tongue taffy."

"Did he? How do you know?"

"Well, I don't, but nobody else would.' Harry said uncertainly.

"With Fred and George in the family?" she said incredulously.

'Well...' Harry searched for something. "he laughed at me, and he called me a selfish, arrogant prick!"

"We _all_ laughed at you." Ginny rolled her eyes heavenward as if silently saying 'honestly' "And he only said those things _after_ you called him a hot-headed fool."

"But…"

"No, Harry. You didn't really have any reason to be mad. Yes, the prank was played on you at a bad time, but we all thought it was funny, and we've all had pranks played on us at various times, even Hermione. And none of us have gotten mad about it before. You only assumed it was Ron because he had finally managed to get the twins back today."

"So, you're telling me that it _wasn't_ Ron?" Harry asked, his eyebrows raised. "Then who was it? You? It certainly wasn't the twins, they always claim credit for their pranks. Perhaps you think it was Hermione?" Harry's tone of voice dared her to tell him just that.

"No, not Hermione…" Ginny trailed off, looking down and to the side.

"_Ginny?"_ Harry asked incredulously.

"I was just trying to help." She defended herself. "I thought that if somebody played a trick on you instead of Ron for a change, that he might not resent you so much."

"But, Ginny. What about my hearing? Didn't you think about me going to the hearing with a two-foot long tongue?"

"Not really, I just wanted to help." Ginny waved her hands about helplessly.

"Just…don't do it again, ok? What would have happened if the twins hadn't managed to undo the curse?" Harry frowned.

Ginny sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, this isn't what I wanted to talk to you about anyway. I have something to give you." She reached into her pocket and removed something, keeping her hand curled around the object. "Here."

Ginny reached over and grasped Harry's wrist, bringing his hand up and placing the item in his palm.

"What is this?" Harry asked, inspecting his hand. A shell lay in the palm of his hand, tiny and spiraling, there was the faintest hint of blue on the inside where the creature had once lived and zebra stripes of red gracing the outside. It was minute and perfect.

"A shell from an animal that I found at the beach. It's always brought me good luck. I want you to have it."

"_This_ is your mysterious good luck charm?" Harry turned it over on his hand and delicately traced the swirling pattern with the tip of one finger.

"Yes." She said, looking off to the side in embarrassment.

"It's pretty." Harry assured her. "Where did you find it?"

"On the beach when we all went together, the summer before I started school."

"Ah, so that's—"

Arthur Weasley opened the door and entered, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands brusquely back and forth. "Whew! It's cold out there."

"Hi, Mr. Weasley." Harry said.

"Hey, Dad." Ginny said, giving him a hug.

"Hello, Ginny." Mr. Weasley said, giving her shoulders a squeeze. "Harry, are you ready to go?"

"Yes, sir, just about."

"Well, good. Just grab your cloak and wand, while I go let everyone know I'm here, and we'll be off."

ooOO00OOoo

Having finally gotten away from Ron's irritating presence, and finding himself finally on the road to a hearing that was to determine the future of his magical career, Harry found himself suddenly extremely nervous.

The trip there was remarkably short; the majority of the time was spent waiting to check Harry in as a visitor, which required wading through inordinate amounts of red tape. Once it was done, and Harry was sporting a shiny new badge on his chest proclaiming his name for all of the world to see, Mr. Weasley let Harry down a corridor to something that reminded Harry strongly of an elevator. When asked what it was, however, he was a told that it was a 'putter-downer' and that it only went downwards; he was then informed that there was also a 'picker-upper', which, naturally, only went up.

There was even something called a 'scooter' that apparently went sideways, though the one at the ministry had been known to go both left and right, as the inclination struck it. Arthur had looked rather green as he'd said that, leading Harry to believe that the inclination struck rather more often than Mr. Weasley would have liked.

All too soon, they had reached the door to the room where Harry was to have his hearing, and he found that his agitation had increased ten-fold on their trip here, and he now was reduced to a barely held-together bundle of tightly strung nerves.

"Harry?" Arthur querried. "Are you alright? Do you need a minute?"

"N,no. yes. I don't know." Harry's hands were shaking.

"Here," Mr. Weasley conjured up a chair and told Harry to sit, "Just relax for a minute. You'll be okay. Just remember, you didn't do anything wrong." He patted Harry comfortingly on his shoulder "leaving your guardians' house was not illegal, because you had already been pardoned by the time you ran away, so the ministry has nothing to hold against you. You defended yourself, which is completely legal."

"I know, Mr. Weasley. But I'm still nervous." Harry clasped his hands, one in the other, and tried desperately to get control of himself. Now was not the time to be weak.

"Well, that's perfectly natural."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out through his teeth in a long hiss.

"_I don't know if I can do thiss."_

"_Of coursse you can."_ Serin said quietly, from his position on top of Harry's ear, _"Have faith, didn't the sshe-witch have good advice for you?_"

"Yeah, yeah, I can do this." Harry said, strapping a bit of mental steel to his backbone. He was a Griffindor, dammit, and it was time to act like one.

"Good job, Harry. Now, it's about time for the hearing to start, so go on in." Mr. Weasley banished the chair as Harry stood shakily to his feet.

"What? You aren't coming with me?" Harry asked, rounding on his pseudo-father-figure with wide eyes. "I have to go in there alone?"

"Harry, I'm sorry, but I can't go in. It's your hearing, and since I'm not your guardian, I'm not allowed in. Don't worry, you won't be alone, Dumbledore will be along shortly to help. He might even be in there right now." Mr. Weasley gently grasped Harry's elbow in one of his hands and steered him towards the door. "But you have to go in now, or you'll be late."

Still shaking, and trying desperately not to bolt for the nearest bathroom, Harry entered the room, and instantly recognized it as a room that Dumbledore had shown Harry, through use of a pensive that contained one of Dumbledore's memories, at the end of his second year. In the memory, a convicted Death Eater had taken a seat in a chair in the center of the room, and chains had sprung to life, capturing the man and pinning him to the chair. Now, it seemed, Harry was expected so sit in that exact chair and face a full Wizengamot tribunal, a collection of approximately fifty witches and wizards, all high up in the Wizarding chain of command, and led by the rater inept Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

Approaching the chair nervously, and settling himself gingerly upon its very edge, Harry looked about the room, hoping to see a friendly face.

None of the people present were smiling, and quite a few were frowning; for the most part, however, Harry was relieved to see, the Wizengamot members were simply serious. What he _didn't_ see, was Albus Dumbledore. Hadn't Mr. Weasley said he'd be here?

Looking around once again, Harry was surprised to discover Percy Weasley present, and apparently acting a scribe, as he had copious amounts of parchment in front of him, his quill almost twitching in his hands at it hovered above the paper, dripping in ink. Percy did not acknowledge Harry, so he continued to look about the room, taking in the raised dais that the Wizengamot members were sitting on, the way the light petered out at the edges of the room, giving it the appearance that the room stretched on interminably beyond the range of his senses, and even the fact that there were a few empty seats, on of which he assumed once belonged to Lucius Malfoy. Perhaps another was for Dumbledore?

The Minister cleared his throat, and the hearing began.

"Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August into offenses committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statue of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey." Fudge's voice made an effort at booming through the room. "Interrogators; Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of magic; Amelia Suzan Bones, Head of the Department of magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Ministry. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley –"

"—Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said a voice from behind Harry who, sure enough, was revealed to be the man himself, coming forward to stand beside Harry's chair, and giving him a sly wink before turning to stare solemnly at the people arrayed before them.

Despite the fact that Harry had been told Dumbledore would show up for his hearing, Harry gaped like a fish at the Headmaster's appearance, only managing to tear his eyes away from the man standing beside him, to focus on the people in front of him, when the Minister began to talk.

"Yes, well. Let's get on with it, shall we?" The Minister mumbled, clearly a bit put out. "We are here to discuss the actions of one Harry James Potter on the night of August 4th, in concern to his use of one Patronus charm in front of a Muggle." Cornelius paused and peered down at Harry over the edge of his dais. "You would be Mr. Potter?"

Harry was momentarily nonplused. "Erm, yes, I'm Harry Potter."

"Good, then we can proceed. Mr. Potter, did you, or did you not, use underage magic on the night of August 4th?" The Minister turned back to his notes.

"I did."

"Indeed. Did you, or did you not, specifically cast the Patronus charm?"

"I did."

"And did you, or did you not, cast this Patronus charm in the presence of a Muggle, specifically…" Fudge made a show of consulting his notes, flipping importantly between pages before he found what he was looking for on the first page. "…one, Dudley Dursley?"

"I did." Harry said flatly, hoping he would be able to get a word in edgewise.

"I see." Fudge peered at Harry for a moment before turning to the other members of the Wizengamot. "Any other questions?"

"I have one." Said the woman Harry recognized as being called Mrs. Amelia Bones, "You cast a Patronus, Mr. Potter? Was it corporeal?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you mean." Harry responded. At least she was giving him a chance to talk, and was even being polite about it.

"I mean to ask, was it fully formed, with a defined shape?" She clarified, leaning foreword in her chair.

"Yes. Of course it was." Harry frowned. What did that have to do with anything?

"Of course?" She seemed surprised. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well…ever since I learned how to cast a Patronus in my third year, I've always been able to cast one…well except for the first couple of times on the fourth."

"Please explain." Mrs. Bones asked kindly.

"Amelia, I fail to see how this is important." Cornelius tried to interject.

"I think it is very relevant, Minister. After all, it is the charm he supposedly cast. We must ascertain if he is indeed capable of casting such a thing, after all, not many full-grown witches or wizards can cast a Patronus, and Mr. Potter here claims to have mastered it in his third year at Hogwarts." She raised her eyebrow at her Minister.

"Hmph. Yes, well. Continue, then."

Amelia simply turned to Harry and looked inquiringly at him.

Harry took a deep breath, and began. "I learned how to cast a Patronus in my third year from Professor Lupin—"

"The werewolf." An unidentified voice spat, venomously.

"Yes, Professor Lupin is a werewolf," Harry bristled. "But he is also the best Defense against the Dark Arts teacher that Hogwarts has had for the past five years."

"Stay on topic, boy." Fudge instructed Harry crassly.

Fighting off his disgust at this man who was rapidly becoming associated with Vernon Dursley in his mind, Harry continued. "I learned the Patronus from Professor Lupin, because I am more susceptible to Dementors than most people seem to be."

"Nonsense." Fudge interrupted again, "Dementor's affect everyone the same."

"Indeed they do, Cornelius." Dumbledore spoke up for the first time, "But remember what that affect is? They make us relive our worst memories." He turned to Harry. "Kindly remind our Minister of what happened to you when you were a year old."

"Yes, sir." Harry said, unable to contain his amusement at the looks of horror he was receiving. "When I was a year old, Lord Voldemort came to Godric's Hollow where my parents were living and killed them in front of me, then he proceeded to cast the killing curse at me, but was destroyed himself."

Every single person in the room with the exception of Dumbledore and Harry himself had flinched violently at the name 'Lord Voldemort' and had paled to the shade of new parchment.

"This is what I see when the Dementors come near me, and since they were all over the place in my third year, Professor Lupin decided that it was wise to teach me the Patronus charm…if I could manage to learn it, which I did, eventually."

"You said that you could cast it reliably, with the exception of the night in question?" Amelia asked, once the shock had worn off a bit.

"Yes, the first exposure to the Dementors after so long was a bit overwhelming especially considering the…" Harry trailed off, uncertain as to how he should say the rest of his sentence, or even if it should be said at all. Opening his mouth, Harry choked on the words, and was reduced to staring helplessly at the Wizengamot in front of him.

"Considering what?" Amelia pressed.

"Considering the events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament." Dumbledore supplied quietly into the silence of the room.

"Pish, posh." The Minister said brusquely. "Nothing happened."

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?" The Minister said in an enraged tone, his face turning lilac.

_Just like Vernon._ "You heard me. I said, 'bullshit'. Something most definitely happened. Even if you are unable to accept anything else that I have told you about the events of that night, you cannot deny that Cedric Diggory is _dead_." Harry stated flatly, his eyes flashing.

"Yes, yes. And it's a shame too," The Minister waved his hand about in a manner that suggested that the topic was irrelevant and unimportant, "but that doesn't prove anything else you said about that night is true, which, by the way, we are not here to discuss. What we _are_ here to discuss is the underage magic that you admittedly performed in the presence of a Muggle."

"Because my life was in danger, as was the life of my cousin." Harry said through gritted teeth. Why wouldn't they _listen?_

"A likely story. My guess is that you were performing a bit of magic to show off to your Muggle cousin, thinking that, because you are the boy-who-lived, you'd get away with it. Well, you thought wrong." Fudge said triumphantly. "We bend the rules for no man."

"If, indeed, Mr. Potter is lying about the Dementors, then by all means, he must face the consequences of such actions. However, one must also consider the fact that he might be telling the truth, and search for something, or perhaps, someone? – to discern the validity of Mr. Potter's claim." Albus Dumbledore steepled his fingers and rested his chin on the bony digits, gazing calmly at the people arrayed before him. "It just so happens that I know of someone who has that ability."

"Hmph. How convenient for you." Fudge said acridly.

"Indeed." Dumbledore agreed easily. "Shall I call her in?"

"No. I see no reason to allow you to bend the rules for Mr. Potter." Cornelius seemed to derive pleasure from denying the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"Minister," Amelia Bones offered tentatively in. "Perhaps we should listen to…"

"Absolutely not." Fudge cut her off. "You've all seen him bend rules and lie outright when it comes to this boy, I'll not allow him to do it again."

Harry was furious. "If you are do damn concerned about me lying about the Dementors, then feed me Veretaserum! Or give me a pensive, and I'll _show_ you what happened!"

"Absolutely not! The use of Veristaserum on a minor is strictly forbidden! Besides, its use is strictly regulated by laws that are in place for _your _protection, Mr. Potter. By saying that, you have once again asked us to bend the rules to fit around you." A simpering, oily voice called out to Harry from the shadows at the elbow of the Minister. "Perhaps the things the _Prophet _says about you are right after all."

Harry was shocked, and angry. If he was anywhere else, or in the presence of any_one_ else, he'd have called that voice up for what it had said and gotten in a fight. However, considering his circumstances, he considered discretion to be the better part of valor. At least at the moment.

The body belonging to the voice leaned foreword, and Harry found himself staring into the eyes of one of the ugliest women he'd ever seen. Even Petunia was prettier.

She had a large head with wide eyes, that seemed far too apart from each other, as if they both had decided to crawl off in the opposite direction from the other. Her mouth was just as wide, with thin lips topped by a large flat nose. She wore a hideous green cardigan over an outrageous pink shirt, which was so bright it shone straight through the fabric of the cardigan. The top of her head sported strands of hair that reminded him of hay, and those were tied back from her face with an over-sized purple bow that fluffed up on both sides of her head, with the ends trailing down the back to disappear below the level of her shoulders.

She was hideous.

She was revolting.

She was…

"_What a large frog."_ Serin said with fascination. _"What iss it doing here? Iss it the fat man's familiar?"_

Harry took a deep breath and held it, desperately trying to contain his laughter as well.

"Nothing to say, Mr. Potter?" Came the simpering voice from out of the frog's mouth.

"N-nothing, at the moment." He managed to squeak, his mirth building.

"So the accusations made by the _Prophet _are true, then?" she asked with what Harry assumed was supposed to be a smile, though it only served to make her more frog-like.

"No. I am not a lying manipulative child who only wants attention. The Dementors came, they attacked me and my cousin, they attempted to _kiss_ my cousin, and I cast a Patronus charm to drive them away." Harry was getting annoyed again.

"_Iss it not a frog?"_ Serin asked, still fixated upon the woman at Fudge's elbow.

"_Hush!"_ Harry hissed at him under his breath.

"I'm sorry, you must understand, perhaps my age is getting to me but…what does this line of questioning have to do with this Hearing?" Dumbledore asked benevolently.

"Absolutely—" The woman began.

"Enough." The Minister said, obviously feeling like he'd lost control of the Hearing. "Who here thinks Mr. Potter is guilty of underage magic?" Unanimously, all hands went up in the room, even the Headmasters.

Fudge raised his eyebrows. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Cornelius?"

"Why did you raise your hand? You are not a part of the committee."

"Your powers of observation have not failed you, you are indeed correct. I am not a member of the judging committee." Anyone else would have sounded condescending, but not Albus Dumbledore. "However, you asked who thought he'd performed underage magic, and I though it best to be prudent and raise my hand, as you did not specifically leave me out of your question, and I do indeed believe he performed underage magic."

"But?" Mrs. Bones asked.

"But I do not believe he did so illegally."

"Because of your witness?" she asked.

"Because of my witness." Dumbledore nodded.

"Minister?" Mrs. Bones turned to Fudge and raised her eyebrows inquiringly, conveying the message that she would not leave the issue of the eyewitness alone. By the shear number of people looking at him in the same manner as Mrs. Bones, the minister knew that they wouldn't either, and he sighed.

"Alright, Professor Dumbledore, call your witness."

"At once." Dumbledore turned his head and winked encouragingly at Harry before getting up from his chair and striding to the back of the room. He returned moments later with none other than Mrs. Figg.

"State your name." Percy Weasley spoke up for the first time. "For the records."

"Arabella Doreen Figg." She said clearly, pulling at the handle of her enormous purse.

"Profession?" Percy asked again, his quill scratching against the parchment busily.

"Er, cat-lady." She said softly.

"Hmm." Percy made a notation on a separate piece of paper and lapsed into silence.

"I was unaware that there were any witches living in Little Whinging" The toad said.

"I'm not a witch, I'm a squib." Mrs. Figg raised her chin determinedly.

"Can you see Dementors as a squib?" The Minister mused to himself.

"Yes, indeed I can see Dementors! I'm not a Muggle, I have SOME magic, enough for basic spells, if I'm really trying." She said hotly.

The Minister instantly backed down. "My apologies Mrs. Figg. So…._did_ you see Dementors in Little Whinging on the night of August 4th?"

"Yes. I did. They were attacking this boy," she waved her hand at Harry Potter, whose eyes shone with gratitude. "And his pig of a cousin in an alleyway. Dudley was curled up against a dumpster, his hands clamped over his ears and Harry was slumped against the wall, his wand aimed at the Dementors, screaming expecto patronum.

"I turned to get help, but I turned back when I heard a whimper and I saw one of the Dementors prying Dudley's hands away from his face and turning his head towards it's own. I believe it was going to kiss him." She shuddered. "Not even that boy should be kissed by Dementors.

"I ran then, to get help (I'm connected to the floo network) and came back in time to escort Harry and Dudley safely to their house at Number Four Privet Drive."

"Did you see his Patronus?" Fudge asked.

"No, I left when he was only getting a feeble light."

Cornelius pounced on that. "So, you did not actually see him cast a Patronus at the Dementors, only attempt to?"

"…Well, no…" Mrs. Figg began to fidget with her handbag again.

"So we have no guarantees that he can actually—" Fudge let out an inarticulate cry of shock when Harry whipped his wand out of his robes and cried 'expecto patronum!'

Without pause, a mighty stag erupted from the end of Harry's wand and cantered the periphery of the room, staring into the shadows as if searching out Dementors. When it did not find any, it turned and approached Harry, once again disappearing right as Harry almost touched it.

"I _can_ cast a Patronus." Harry said, his voice liquid thunder. "I _was_ attacked by Dementors, and I _did _defend myself with my wand." He stowed his wand carefully way, lest they get an idea to take it from him.

"Thank you, Mrs. Figg. You may go now." Amelia said, when Fudge continued to stare at Harry in shock. "Show all hands who think Harry Potter is guilty of the misuse of underage magic?"

Three hands went up, Fudge's, the toads, and an unidentified person sitting off to the side.

"All right, then this is just a formality. All hands who think Harry Potter is not guilty of the misuse of underage magic?"

A forest of hands appeared.

"It's settled then. Harry Potter, you are hereby cleared of all charges, and may continue on at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry without recrimination."

ooOO00OOoo

The section in the hearing from "Disciplinary hearing…" to "…. Brian Dumbledore" with the exception of the phrase "Fudge's voice made an effort at booming through the room" comes directly from the book Order of the Phoenix which is written by J.K. Rowling.

Woot! This is the third time I've scrapped and re-written this chapter. I hope you all appreciate the hell I've gone through to make it presentable. You have no idea how lucky you are I have the wonderful beta's I do. Without them, this chapter would have smelled worse than the dispose-all. Many thanks to ScarletAngel2424 and Satir!

For those of you still reading, the next chapter will contain the trip to Diagon Alley, and Hermione will be doing something that _no one_ is expecting. Ohhh, I just can't wait to see all of the reactions to the next chapter…. hope you enjoyed the show! Until next time….


	8. Diagon Alley

Chapter 8: Diagon Alley

A party was held at the Headquarters that night, courtesy of the twins. They went all out, gathering as many odds and ends as they could from around the house and strung them together on a bit of rope they had found, creating a streamer of sorts that wove its way from the perimeter of the living room, through the dining room, into the kitchen, across the stovetop, through the door, down the hall, up the stairs, (where it wrapped around a snarling Mrs. Black's frame) and wandered its way through the various bedrooms to terminate in a sparkling, glowing mass on Harry's bed.

It was a hit, of course, though by the end, Harry was thoroughly worn out and in doubt of ever being able to stand up straight again. Somehow, and Harry truly didn't want to know how they'd done it, the twins had managed to get a hold of a vast quantity of Butterbeer, which they then proceeded to cheerfully pour down Harry's unwilling throat. When Mrs. Weasley had found out, she had been none too happy, and had proceeded to tell Fred and George off at the top of her lungs, aided by one Mrs. Black. (Which surprised everyone, but why should it? She was always screaming at something, and the twins _had_ tied garland in front of her nose.)

But the damage had already been done, and Harry was well and truly trashed, his shirt untucked, and mostly unbuttoned, his belt lost hours before, as well as his shoes. His socks, somehow, had gotten stuffed into the breast pocket of his shirt and only the tips were now visible. Every now and then, Harry would glance down, to assure himself that his feet were still there – because it seemed they had gone rather numb – and would jump in fright at the sock that was lurking there…waiting.

The highlight of Harry's night, however, came after the twins had gotten themselves rather tipsy, and made yet another attempt to get Harry to consume a huge volume of Butterbeer in the space of mere seconds. Due to their inebriation, they were unable to co-ordinate their actions properly and ended up bathing Harry in the stuff, instead of getting him to drink it.

Normally, this wouldn't have been much of an issue, after all; Harry wasn't exactly fond of his cousin's hand-me-down clothes. However, Serin was still hiding in Harry's hair at the time, and as a result, consumed substantial – for a snake – amounts of Butterbeer himself. It was either that, or drown.

Consequently, both Harry, and his familiar, were drunk off their asses.

"_Ssstrange humansss and their ssstrange drinksss."_ Serin hissed, slurring his words a bit more than usual.

"_Hey, we aren't the ssstrange onesss."_ Harry returned sloppily. _"At leassst we have legsss."_

"_You humanssss and your appinedegessss."_ The reptile snorted. _"What isss ssso great about having app..app..apendig….ssshit. Legsss?"_

"Harry?" Sirius asked as he stumbled over to him. "Wha'tre you do'in hisssss'n to y'rself?"

"Eh?" Harry replied intelligently. "M'not."

"Yesssu 'r." Sirius took a long pull from the bottle in his hand.

"Wazzat?" Harry asked, snatching the bottle away. Peering blearily at it, Harry read it aloud, "Firewhiskey?"

"Shhhhh!" Sirius grabbed the bottle back and tucked it under his arm, starring accusingly around the room as if to keep others away. "Don' say it so loud!" he said in a dramatic whisper. "Som'thn might happen to it."

"_Legssss…."_ Serin hissed.

"Legs?" Harry repeated stupidly.

"Legs? No, I don' think legs'll happen to it, but maybe if you put it on the floor." Sirius glared warily at the wood planks beneath his feet before taking another long drink from the bottle.

"No legs?" Harry asked.

"Not on the floor." Sirius returned.

"_Ssseee?"_ Serin sounded satisfied, or as satisfied as he could while he tried desperately to feel his scales enough to hold on to Harry's hair. _"No legssss."_

"I don't understand." Harry said, a pathetic look on his face.

"That's okay, Harry. Nobody else does either." Came an irritated, and slightly amused voice from behind him.

"Hermy?" Harry said, whirling quickly and tripping over his feet so that the person in question had to leap foreword and grab his arm to keep him from tumbling inelegantly onto the floor.

"Yes." She said with a sigh. "It's me. And you're trashed. Let's get you to bed."

"No, don' wanna." Harry said petulantly, digging in his heels.

"I don't care. You're going to bed." Hermione said, grabbing Harry's elbow and steering him towards the door.

"No, don' wanna…." Harry tried desperately to stop Hermione, but kept being surprised by the lurking sock in his pocket and was subsequently distracted enough for Hermione to drag him over to Fred and George. "Bye, Sirius!" Harry waved at his godfather from over his shoulder.

"Bye Harry!" the escaped convict returned, wandering off to find Tonks. Maybe she would be willing to play a game of pin-the-tail-on-the-wizard.

"Come on, you two." Hermione ordered the twins firmly.

"Aww, Hermy, you aren't crashing the party, are you?" one of them demanded. They were so drunk you couldn't tell the difference.

"I most certainly am, this is irresponsible of you, now come on." She demanded. Spinning Harry around, she placed one of his arms around each of the twins' necks. "And bring Harry with you."

Knowing better than to argue the two weaving redheads complied, and carried a sagging, and hissing, Harry up the stairs, followed by a disdainful Hermione.

After putting Harry to bed, -- the streamers were pushed of Harry's bed and onto the floor for now – and removing a wobbly Serin from where he was barely clinging to Harry's head, Hermione placed an ever-full glass of water next to Harry and closed the door, shooing Fred and George into their rooms with instructions to sleep off their inebriation. Determined to get back to her interrupted studying, Hermione headed back down the hall towards the library.

Taking a detour, she stopped by the room she shared with Ginny and informed the sulking girl – Mrs. Weasley had banished Ginny to her room as soon as the Butterbeer was pulled out – that, yes the twins had gotten trashed, and yes, so had Harry, all three were now passed out in their rooms. Ron, she was told in return, hadn't left his room for the past hour and a half and was presumed to be asleep.

Hermione had rolled her eyes at that, unsurprised. Everyone knew that Ron could sleep through an earthquake.

Closing the door again, and double-checking that Harry was asleep on his bed and not about to roam the house, Hermione turned sharply on the toe of her well-shined shoe and marched back down the stairs, intent on some real, quality time, with her school books.

ooOO00OOoo

Twenty minutes later, the house went silent, and Hermione cautiously peeked her head around the doorframe just in time to witness a peeved Mrs. Weasley shoo the last two party animals, it looked like Sirius and Tonks, though Hermione couldn't be sure, up the stairs with a strong command for the male to sober up and for the female to, "Consider her actions."

Shaking her head, Hermione emerged to help with some of the clean up and was met by effusive thanks from Mrs. Molly. Considering that it was already three in the morning, Molly told Hermione that they only needed to pick up the worst of the mess so that carpeting wouldn't stain and food wouldn't crust on dishes, the rest would wait for tomorrow.

Then the boys would clean.

Smiling evilly at the thought, Hermione had nodded and complied, only moving the dishes into the kitchen and letting them soak in the water over-night. The clean up would be done by hand, and not by magic.

After she had returned to the Library, "I'll only be up for a little longer, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione spent half an hour staring into the flames of the fireplace, once more lost in thought about the fight between Ron and Harry.

It seemed to her, though she was loath to admit it, that the split between Harry and Ron was only getting bigger, despite Ginny's and her best efforts.

Things were getting tense between Hermione and Ron as well, and she was beginning to seriously re-think the whole 'dating' idea. Things had been fine at first, so long as she danced around the topic of Harry; which had been rather easy, considering he was still living at the Dursley's at the time.

But after Harry had arrived at Headquarters, the tension had kicked up several notches, and everyone was beginning to feel it. Things had even creped into her relationship with Ron, and he'd been rather evil to her as well, demanding that she choose between him and Harry. That she, "Get her priorities straight," and realize that Harry wasn't the center of the universe.

Well of course he wasn't.

Hermione knew that, and she didn't treat Harry like he was the center of the universe, where had Ron gotten such an idea? He _was_ however, a scared, lonely little boy, and Hermione couldn't help but feel protective of Harry. After all, Ron was Harry's first friend and, Harry was Hermione's.

Hermione shook her head and exited the library, heading for the kitchen to make herself a cup of hot cocoa. Mug in hand, and having put away the makings of her chocolaty drink, Hermione once again retreated into her sanctuary. She needed to think about this, and what better place to do that than the library?

Settling herself into her favorite chair, Hermione pulled her feet up and tucked them neatly to the side of her body, fluffing her robes to cover even the tips of her toes and stared moodily into the fire.

She had always been a lonely child, smart, but very lonely. Books had always been her escape from the world, knowledge her defense against it's cruelty. Even at a young age, Hermione knew things. Things children shouldn't know.

Things like, why Sarah's mother _really_ left her father. It was the lady across the street, she did things with Sarah's father that shouldn't be done by anyone but husband and wife. And John, well, he cut himself, Hermione knew, and that wasn't good at all. She'd turned him in to his parents and he hated her for it. Rachel's sister ran away from home to join a gang, and though everyone thought she went to a boarding school, Hermione knew better.

When she got her letter from Hogwarts, accepting her to a school of witchcraft, all the little things in Hermione's life that had been unexplained suddenly made sense. That was why she knew things she shouldn't, that was why she did things sometimes, that were impossible. But while she could blame her knowledge of unspoken things on magic, she could not blame one thing on it.

Her understanding.

No, her understanding of such things rested solely with the power of her intellect. Intelligent, and well read, Hermione knew that the lady across the street was having an affair with Sarah's father, and understood the ramifications. She knew that when John cut himself, it was purposeful, and hurtful, not an accident like a child should think. And poor Rachel, her sister had been attacked two weeks ago in a gang rape that had left her mind and body shattered. The gang had then slit her throat and dumped her body in the river.

No one would ever know.

Hermione was haunted by the knowledge of things that she should not know, and the intellect to understand them.

This was why she had stormed out of Divination two years previous. Divination was far to close to what she had been doing as a child, and still sometimes did as a student at Hogwarts. Even now, Hermione would sometimes find herself knowing things before they happened, or making leaps of logic that were not possible, even for her. She knew things, where a book was found, or what an author originally meant to say when the wording in a passage was ancient and archaic. Her power was more than simply being able to wield magic; it was knowing things as well. She discovered, in her quiet times, that the more her mind was allowed to wander, the more knowledge seeped into her brain unasked for, and it was always the kind she had never wanted. Like Rachel's poor sister.

So she built a wall, a barrier between herself and the world, to keep others out, and herself in. A wall of books and information that kept her mind occupied even as it kept others away.

But in the end, she was lonely.

But loneliness had a strength all of its own, she had discovered, and she wielded her intellect like a weapon to keep others away. She would not let them near her, and they would not touch her. She would not trust them, and the bad things that people said and did, the poison that infected them and made them do such awful things would not infect her.

She was still a nice person, or at least she tried to be, but it was difficult to be polite and still keep others at a distance.

By her first year at Hogwarts, Hermione had managed to build her wall tall and wide enough that no one could touch _her_. Or so she thought.

She had met Harry and Ron on the train while helping Neville look for his toad, (_See? Good person._ Hermione's mind said as she took a sip of her chocolate.) and had been instantly charmed by the rag-tag look of innocence on their faces. Here were two people who didn't understand the world as she did, who had yet to learn of its horrors.

Harry, she later learned, was not as innocent as he seemed: he was an abused child, yet he still managed to hold on to his belief that the world was essentially a good place. This only served to enhance her one-sided affection for the emerald-eyed sprite, and she had done all she could that year to ensure his innocence.

Hermione frowned and shifted position, dragging a blanket down from the back of her chair and wrapping it around her shoulders. She had failed, of course, and Harry had faced off against Voldemort for the first time at the tender age of eleven. He had continued on, innocence undiminished; and Hermione's protectiveness had only grown.

She had been so glad, when Harry had drug Ron to come after her that day, earlier in the year, when she was crying in the bathroom. They had saved her from the Troll that had been wandering the halls, and she had found her very first friend in Harry Potter.

Well, the first person _she_ considered a friend. She had helped many people in the past with their school work, even before she had gone to Hogwarts, and all of them had considered her a friend, but Hermione had held true to herself and kept them all apart from her in her mind. Harry was the first to worm his way past her defenses and into her heart.

Truth to tell, he hadn't had to try very hard to do so, his innocence shone through his eyes like a beacon and she had known he would not taint her.

Ron, however, had taken a bit longer to get under her skin, though eventually, he, too, breached her defenses to claim the title of Friend.

For three and a half years, Harry, Hermione, and Ron had been inseparable, and had even earned the name of 'Golden Trio' from a group of fellow Gryffindors. But then Harry's name had sprung, unwanted, from the Goblet of Fire and things had begun to slowly deteriorate.

Harry had snapped and snarled when asked about the Tournament, his stress level at an all-time high, and Ron, being the jealous prat that he was, had snapped and snarled because, once again, _Harry_ was getting the attention. _Harry_ was special, and _Harry_ was getting the glory.

It wasn't Harry's fault, but jealousy wasn't logical, and neither was Ron.

Hermione, however, was cursed with an ample amount of logic, and she had come to realize earlier in the day that things could not continue as they were. Harry and Ron were split irrevocably now, that was unmistakable, and Hermione could not continue to be the bridge between the two. As they moved farther and farther apart from each other, Hermione would be stretched more and more between the two, like saltwater taffy, until she broke under the strain. So, she had a decision to make.

Harry…or Ron?

Harry was kind and courteous, but he had finally lost that look of innocence in his eyes that he'd had all these years. Now he, too, was tainted with the knowledge and understanding of what the world could do. Could he keep it from infecting him and by association, her? She had worked so many years to remain pure, she couldn't give that up now.

Ron was a jealous hot-head, just like Harry had said, and while he was untainted by an understanding of how the world worked, his temper and jealousy was a poison all on its own; a poison that Hermione didn't know how to defend against.

Looking at it in those terms, Hermione began to recognize that her decision wasn't really a decision after all. Her opinions and her goals, the very things that made her, her, _demanded_ that she pick the side that had the least chance for corruption.

That meant Harry.

The realization struck like a ton of bricks and she crumpled in her chair, her long-forgotten cup of cocoa spilling onto the floor as she realized the enormity of what she had done.

She had chosen Harry over Ron.

Friendship over Love.

For she did love Ron, as much as she felt herself to be capable, and his loss hurt her almost more than she could bear. Did this make her a bad person? Picking Harry over Ron, one friend over another, especially one's boyfriend, was that the sort of thing a good person did? Had she tainted herself?

Hermione doubled up her legs and brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and pillowing her head on her arms. Was she evil, now? Was she bad? She'd looked at the situation so coldly, and come to a conclusion, but was it the right one? There was no one she could ask, this she would have to handle on her own.

The fire crackled and sparked into the darkness, offering what comfort it could to the woman-child sobbing in the chair before it. Long into the night it burned, lighting the room and driving back the shadows; standing vigil where no one else could.

ooOO00OOoo

The rising sun shone through the thin draperies of the library and woke Hermione from a deep sleep.

Slowly uncurling from her chair, Hermione rubbed the back of her neck with one hand, seeking to unkink the muscles that were sore from sleeping in an awkward position.

The fire had burned itself into embers long ago and Hermione rose from her chair, grabbing a poker and some new logs, bringing the fire back to life. Settling herself once more, Hermione wished that all things were as easy to bring back to life as a fire was. Things with Ron would not fix themselves, nor did they lend themselves to being fixed. Harry had broken things off with Ron, and so, now must she.

Feeling no pressing desire to do so at the moment, Hermione lounged in her hiding area for a while longer, putting off the inevitable, before the smell of cooking breakfast drove her out of the library and into the kitchen.

Giving Mrs. Weasley a wan smile, Hermione rolled her sleeves up and began to help with the preparations.

"Remember, Dear," Mrs. Weasley said, pointedly ignoring Hermione's puffy eyes and red nose. "The men are going to clean up after the party, so we must be careful not to make too much of a mess with breakfast." And with a wink at the girl standing at her elbow, Molly picked up a new pan, instead of rinsing the old one, and began to fry some eggs.

"Of course." Hermione replied, grabbing plates for serving the food and, oops, transferring the bacon onto one of the unused plates, instead of leaving it on the platter.

Time passed quickly enough, and as the women were putting the finishing touches onto breakfast, they heard the muffled sounds of steps on the stairwell as the revel maker's drug themselves out of bed and into the dining room.

Despite herself, Hermione couldn't help but think that everyone looked cute and pathetic as they slumped in their chairs, heads hanging and eyes closed.

"Good morning, everyone." She said, rather too loudly, as she placed a platter of food in the middle of the table. "Here you go."

"What's so good about it?" Fred mumbled in response.

"Well, you're awake." She said, amused.

"That's the problem." George countered.

"Well, it wouldn't be a problem if you hadn't brought that Butterbeer in here last night." Mrs. Weasley said disapprovingly as she stepped into the kitchen, her hands filled with food. "Here." She said, stetting it on the table. "Now everyone, eat up, because you all are going to clean up after yourselves this morning, and there's no use trying to do any housecleaning on an empty stomach."

"We're what?" Ron said around a mouthful of food.

"Not you dear, you weren't at the party, but everyone else," here Molly gave Fred and George a stern look, "is going to clean up the mess left in here from the party."

Just then, Sirius stumbled into the dining room, weaving dangerously. "Oh, b'lloks." He said, his voice slurred.

"Sirius," Mrs. Weasley walked over to the black-haired convict and slipped an arm around his waist to help him remain upright. "What have you done this time?"

"N'thin I don wan'a repeat." Sirius assured her, his head lolling about on his neck. "But sure wa s'fun go'n down th' stairs." Blearily, he stared around the room at all of the faces staring at him. "What chew want?" he demanded, suddenly angry. "Don' stare ame like th't."

"Calm down." Molly said, attempting to steer him towards a chair. "You just sit here and tell me what happened this morning, you_ should _be sober."

"Yah, but smthin went wrong with the' charm." Sirius allowed himself to be walked to the chair, but balked when it came time to actually sit.

"Come on now, dear, you'll feel better if you sit. What charm?"

"Th' sob-sob…" Sirius scrunched his face up, searching for the right word before shaking his head and apparently giving up. "Th' sober'n charm."

"Oh dear." The Weasley matron said, a frown of worry upon her face. "You didn't try to cast it on yourself, did you?" She asked, taking in his still very drunk form.

"Noooo," Sirius drawled, drawing the word out with relish. "but Nymphie did, and she's soo mad now."

"Nymphie?" Molly asked before her expression cleared with a dawning of understanding. "Oh, Tonks. Here, lets put you back to bed, if she's as bad off as you and then performed a sobering charm on you, not wonder you're still as drunk as you are." Mrs. Weasley turned the somehow still upright man back towards the door he had just come through and guided him up the stairs to tuck him back into bed.

Taking advantage of Mrs. Weasley's absence, and everyone else's obviously hung-over state – Ginny had yet to emerge for breakfast – Hermione turned to where Ron was munching contentedly upon a strip of bacon. "Can I talk to you after breakfast, Ron?" She asked, her voice not betraying her nervousness.

Ron shrugged as he reached for another strip of bacon. "Sure."

ooOO00OOoo

Entering her sanctuary, Hermione closed the door behind her with a firm click and made sure to lock it before walking over to the table with a tightly controlled gate that betrayed the fragility of her emotions.

With careful motions, she opened the bag still sitting on the table and pulled out her schoolbooks and a pad of paper as well as her quill and ink. Arranging these items on the desktop had never taken so much of her concentration, nor had they ever been so exact. Each item was placed just so, and each one a certain distance from the other objects around it.

When everything was settled around her to her liking, Hermione briskly took a seat at the table and industriously flipped through the book at the top of the stack – ironically, Arithmancy – picking up her quill to begin a serious study session.

As her hand turned the pages however, Hermione's mind betrayed her once again and began to replay the events of just minutes before involving a certain red-head. Blindly, Hermione's eyes fixed on the tome in front of her and her hand began to copy what was written on the page, even as her eyes never truly recognized what she was seeing.

She really shouldn't be surprised he'd say that about her, she reasoned. It didn't really matter, not anymore. She'd already thought about it and come to the decision that she was right in choosing Harry over Ron, this simply confirmed what she'd thought. But it still hurt. She had known that, too. She just hadn't expected it to hurt this _much._

She really had done the right thing.

But…Ron…

Ron was her first love, and how was one supposed to simply forget that? Especially since she had learned, to her dismay, that she still loved him. The argument had not been pleasant, and the things he'd _said_… It made Hermione wonder if he had ever truly loved her like he'd claimed he did.

Desperately, Hermione wrenched her mind off of that thought and furiously focused upon the page in front of her. Minutes later, she was again thinking about her break up with Ron and the horrible things they _both_ had said. Ron had pulled out all the stops and used every bit of ammunition he'd had against her.

No, don't think of that. Focus. Arithmancy.

But, Hermione hadn't played nice for long and had given as good as she'd gotten, even though her voice never raised above that of a whisper. Ron, of course, hadn't limited himself to speaking civilly and she was sure that the whole house had heard him say…heard him call her… How was she supposed to face them now?

Giving up the pretense of studying, Hermione dropped her quill with a gasp and hid her face in the crook of one elbow, hot tears leaking, unwanted, down her arm to drip upon the notes she'd written.

Across the library, the fire burned once more, silently casting its warmth into the room.

ooOO00OOoo

It was Harry who finally intruded upon her self-imposed exile the following day. Moving slowly, as if not to frighten away a small, timid creature, Harry grabbed the blanket from the back of the chair by the fireplace and placed it around Hermione's shaking shoulders.

"Hermione?" He asked softly, taking the seat at the table next to her.

For the longest while, Hermione simply sat there, her arms still folded across the table and her eyes staring sightlessly at the book in front of her. Her breathing was slow and shallow, the bags under her eyes woefully pronounced, while her hair was more of a wild mane than he'd ever seen it.

"Cat?" Harry asked again, using his private nickname for her, as he gently placed one hand upon a quivering shoulder.

This time, Harry was relieved to see that he'd gotten a response, even though the response was for her to turn and stare at him for a moment before flinging herself into his arms and sobbing harshly.

"Cat? Oh, Cat, he really did a number on you, didn't he?" Harry asked quietly, gently rubbing her back in soothing circles.

When she only cried harder, Harry resigned himself to a long talk, and wrapped his arms more securely around the sobbing woman in his arms. Gently, he began to rock back and forth, murmuring insensible words under his breath as he held her.

Eventually, her flood of tears turned into a stream, which slowed to a trickle, which eventually dried up all together. Hermione pulled back slowly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling.

"Er, sorry about that." She said, her voice a little hoarse. "I didn't mean to make your shirt all snotty."

"That's okay." Harry said pulling out his wand and casting a drying charm on his shirt. "My shoulders can handle being a little wet."

Hermione gaped at him, momentarily stunned. "Harry, what are you thinking!" She cried, batting his wand away from his shoulder as if she could erase what he had just done. "You just got back from the hearing two days ago and you're already doing underage magic!"

"Don't worry, Hermione." He said soothingly. "It's not being monitored anymore, I've gotten the tracking charm removed."

"How did you do that?" She asked, dubiously.

"I found a book with a charm to remove it, and had the twins do it yesterday."

"That wasn't a very good idea, Harry. What if they'd done it wrong? What if it doesn't even work? Then you've just gotten yourself expelled from Hogwarts!" Hermione practically screamed the last part, clearly agitated. Harry blamed it on Ron.

"Relax, Hermione, calm down. Nothing is going to happen. I've had the charm off for twenty-four hours and if I haven't gotten expelled yet, I don't think I'm going to." Harry placed a soothing hand on her arm.

"But Harry, how could you trust your future to something that you found in this library? You _do_ realize that Sirius' parents were supporters of You-Know-Who?"

Harry frowned at the appellation. "You know, Cat, you really should consider using Voldemort's name. Dumbledore says that not using his name only increases your fear of him."

"That isn't the point here, Harry." She scolded lightly.

"Yeah, I just thought you should know. Anyway, yes, I know they were supporters of him, but that doesn't change that this spell works. And I felt like I _had_ to risk it. I can't afford to be defenseless because our Minister of Magic is a moron." Harry stated vehemently.

It was a testament to how much she agreed with him that Hermione did not correct Harry in his lack of respect for their dear Minister Fudge.

"So, Hermione," Harry started awkwardly, unsure of where to begin. "How…are you?"

Immediately, Hermione's eyes began to shine, though no tears were shed. "Not very good, at the moment." She said honestly.

"What happened? What did he say? All we could hear was a bunch of yelling." Harry asked, concerned.

"Oh, Harry. It was awful….." Hermione leaned foreword and began to speak.

ooOO00OOoo

After Harry and Hermione had their heart-to-heart in the library, they found themselves spending more and more time together, their friendship deepened by Ron's betrayal of them. The twins, of course, were not to be left out, and the four of them formed a type of unholy alliance that kept the inhabitors of Grimmauld Place on their toes, if nothing else.

Their trip to Diagon Alley was lots of fun, despite the tension of remaining in a group. Dumbledore had informed the members of the Order, and Harry as well, that there was an investigation going on at the Ministry concerning the actions of the Dementors and exactly _why_ they had been on Privet Drive on the first place. They had to have been sent there, and since the Ministry claimed to have control of all the Dementors, that meant someone from the inside had it in for Harry.

Which meant staying in a large group when they went to Diagon Alley.

Of course, as they day had worn on and no attack had been forth coming, the whining had begun by the group. Fred and George wanted to sneak off and look for a place to set up their eventual trick shop while Ginny wanted to go to the sweet shop down the way. Everyone had their own places to be, and they wanted to be there _yesterday_.

It was with some reluctance that Mrs. Weasley had finally allowed the group to disperse, calling after them amidst their whoops of joy, "Now take care, and be safe, all of you! We'll meet back at the Leaky Cauldron in two hours!"

Hermione had her own plans for the day and had immediately grabbed Harry's hand and drug him back the way they came, through the spelled archway and out the door of the Leaky Cauldron with barely a wave at the barkeep, Tom.

She hadn't stopped until they reached a rarely-visited corner of London, cooling their heels momentarily in front of one particular store.

"Hermione, are we where I think we are?" Harry asked, eyeing the shop in front of them.

"Depends on where you think we are." She said cheekily, giving Harry a wink over her shoulder before pushing the door open and stepping inside, the little bell over the door chiming merrily to announce her presence.

"I'll be there in just a minute!" A voice called from the back of the shop.

"Take your time." Hermione responded, casually walking up to one of the walls and studying the images displayed there.

The bell above the door chimed again and Harry came up from behind her to look at the pictures as well.

"Aren't they beautiful?" Hermione asked, studying a picture of an intricately drawn rose. The detail was exquisite, with light shining from an unknown source and making the petals look almost alive. There were drops of dew on the petals and leaves, so realistic, that you felt as if you could almost touch them and bring your hand back wet.

"Well, yes, I'd say that they're pretty." Harry responded, looking about him anxiously. "But, Hermione, what exactly are we doing here?"

"Can I help you?" A man emerged from the back of the store, drying his hands on a towel.

Hermione turned to Harry with a wicked smile on her face. "Isn't it obvious, Harry? I'm going to get a tattoo."

Which is how Harry had found himself standing in a tattoo parlor with a blush on his face and Hermione across the room from him with her trousers around her knees and her shirt lifted up to show an alarming amount of skin.

Harry blushed even harder as he realized what train his last thoughts' had taken. Turning his head, Harry desperately tried to de-rail his thoughts. _How do I get myself into these messes?_ He thought desperately. Turning to walk away, he was met by the sharp voice of Hermione Granger.

"Oh no you don't, Harry Potter. You come back here and hold my hand. Tattoo's hurt like hell, and you are here for moral support." She instructed him while the owner of the shop, a bald-headed man with body art covering every inch of his skin, carefully laid out and sanitized his instruments.

"Eh, Hermione, I'm not sure.." Harry trailed off at the stern look she was giving him and walked reluctantly over to her side where she lay stretched out on a padded table.

Harry took her hand just as the owner turned around, a piece of paper in one hand and a needle in the other. "Now, just tell me one more time, to avoid mistakes, where you want the design and how big."

"Right here." Hermione gestured with her free hand towards the front edge of her left hipbone. "And about two inches tall."

"Right." The man said, all business. Laying the piece of paper with Hermione's drawing on it next to his elbow, the man placed his hands against her skin and looked up at Hermione. "Brace yourself, this is going to hurt."

ooOO00OOoo

"Hermione." Harry asked later, when the two of them were carefully closed up behind locked library doors. "What was that design anyway?"

"You mean this one?" she asked, gesturing vaguely in the direction of her hip.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. It looked like a rune."

"That's because it is." She said with a smile. "Glad you've learned something being around me so much."

"Yeah, well." Harry said ruefully, running a hand through his hair only to find himself impeded by the hissing of his familiar. "Er, sorry about that Serin, didn't mean to wake you up."

"_Well, if you'd sstop trying to run your hand through your fur I wouldn't wake up, now would I?"_ Serin said peevishly.

"Yeah, sorry." Harry said, turning his attention back to a giggling Hermione as Serin wriggled about, searching for a good position to resume his nap. "So?" he asked.

"It is a rune." She repeated. "It means 'trust'."

"'Trust'?" Harry echoed, perplexed. "Why trust?"

"Because it's something that has always played a large role in my life." Hermione answered, settling down more comfortably in her chair. "I didn't trust anyone for a very long time. You and Ron were the first, and since he's broken that trust, I wanted a reminder of it." She gently stroked the outline of the gauze pad that had been placed over the tattoo with the tip of one finger.

"What is it going to remind you of, though." Harry asked. "To trust or not to trust?"

Hermione giggled. "That's the question." Harry rolled his eyes, and she continued. "No, really, it is. I still don't trust people easily, and I'm not sure I ever will, I'm a bit of a loner…"

"I noticed." Harry said under his breath.

"…and I like it that way," she continued with a glare in his direction. "I just…wanted a reminder that trust is something precious, something not to be given easily or lightly, but also as something that _should_ be given to those deserving people." She continued with a sad, soft smile, "I don't want to shut myself off because Ron hurt me."

Harry leaned foreword in his chair and gently placed one of his hands over the two that were bundled together in her lap. "I think that's wonderful, Cat." He said softly. "Although," he continued with a teasing grin, "a little warning would have been nice."

"Probably," she agreed impishly, "but I couldn't resist, seeing that look on your face was priceless."

"I'll bet it was." Harry said, leaning backwards with a laugh. "You got me good. I never would have imagined you with a tattoo. Much less where you got it." He finished with an awkward cough.

"What, think I'm too stuffy?" Hermione asked with a sniff.

"Noooo," Harry drew the word out uncertainly.

"Don't worry about it." Hermione said, waving him off. "Not long ago I would have been. But I've decided that I'm tired of hiding behind my books. Not," she told him when she saw his eyes widen, "that I've given up on my studying, it's still very important I'm just….I want to live a little, you know? This thing with Ron has made me see that life is so short, too short to waste on these things. I'll still study my ass off, but," she said with a smile. "I'm going to have fun too."

Harry couldn't help but smile at that.

ooOO00OOoo

Ha! Finished! And _much_ better quality than Chapter seven, if I say so myself. So, what did you all think? Hermione got a tattoo! Oh, I love it. Ok, hope you had fun. Tootles!

P.S.: you are sooo lucky I didn't end this chapter with Hermione saying "isn't it obvious? I'm going to get a tattoo." It was very tempting to be evil and leave that as a cliffhanger but, alas, I could not do that to you.


	9. Return Home

A/N: Not too many changes, mostly grammar, but has been fully beta'd.

Chapter 9: Return Home

That night, Harry was completely unable to sleep at all, and he roamed the halls of Number 12 Grimmauld Place like a ghost. Pacing back and forth from the kitchen to the library had gotten boring hours ago, and he desperately wanted something – anything – to do. Mrs. Black had long grown weary of his passing and she glared at him each time he crossed in front of her portrait, almost daring him to make an attempt at conversation so that she could ream him out for his annoying movements. Deprived of his ability to run, and her civil night time company – Harry didn't want to even _think_ of talking to her when she was scowling at him like that – he turned to his one remaining solace of the night.

Music.

Slipping silently down the hall and into his room, Harry took a moment to gently ruffle a sleeping Hedwig's feathers affectionately. _At least someone's sleeping._ Harry thought derisively.

Turning to his beside table, Harry retrieved his CD player and slid the tiny speakers into his ears, hitting play. Instantly, the deep thrumming of a bass guitar reached his ears followed by the sharp tunes of drums.

Relaxing onto his bed, Harry let the music wash over and through him, carrying him away from his troubles. Music acted as a stress reliever for him, and he had been without it the past few days. Hermione had requested the use of his player the day after she and Ron had broken up, and Harry had been certain she would wear out the repeat button listening to his Tool CD. It was then that Harry had introduced her to "Break stuff" by Limp Bizkit and she had prowled her way through his CD collection after that.

Sharing something as personal as his music was a new, and slightly uncomfortable experience for Harry. Still, he was glad he had done it, since it had also served as a link between the two of them, bringing them closer to each other while separating them from Ron.

Ron, Harry was surprised to discover, was not on his mind as much as he had expected the redhead would be. In fact, beyond the times when the two of they were face to face, he rarely even crossed Harry's mind.

Harry pondered for a moment, wondering why that was so. Why _weren't_ Ron's actions and words eating Harry alive like they should be? Not that Harry was complaining, he never sought out pain, but Harry would have expected the break in their friendship to hurt him more. After all, Ron was his best mate…wasn't he?

Trying to avoid the issue, Harry reached upwards, and threaded his fingers through the wild locks of his hair and gently disentangled Serin from where he was napping. The tiny adder didn't even stir beyond hissing softly and wrapping the tip of his tail around one of Harry's fingers.

Softly, Harry ran a finger along Serin's body, stroking him nose to tail. Harry had run his finger up Serin's spine once, and had been severely reprimanded for it. Apparently, doing so had caused Serin's scales to dig into his skin painfully, and the peevish reptile had informed Harry in no uncertain terms that the next time he did that; Serin would bite him. While Harry had been unsure as to how much Serin had meant that threat, he had, nonetheless, refrained from causing his familiar any more undue pain.

Stroking Serin's head, Harry was surprised to feel a bit of the skin stick to his thumb and come away, revealing glossy black scales underneath.

A thrill of panic shot through Harry before he realized that Serin was simply shedding. Intrigued, Harry lifted the palm-sized serpent to eye level and began to inspect him. Close observation revealed a film over Serin's eyes, as well as a marked difference in his scales luster that became apparent with the emergence of the new scales on Serin's head.

Taking the tip of one fingernail, Harry placed it against his familiar's sleeping form and softly drug it down his length. The scales came off easily, and Harry began to remove the scales in earnest.

It was when Harry turned Serin over to get at the scales on his stomach that the reptile finally awoke.

"_Sstay away!"_ The adder exclaimed, wriggling in Harry's grasp, frantic to escape.

"_Sserin!"_ Harry hissed, trying to restrain the writing reptile. _"It's me, Harry! Calm down, I've got you."_

"…_Harry?"_ Serin asked warily, his forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. _"Iss that really you?"_

"_Yess, Sserin, it'ss me."_ Harry assured him. _"I wass just getting your sscales off."_

"_What?"_ Serin asked, twisting his head around to stare down the length of his body. _"Iss that why I was sso itchy?"_

"_Musst have been. Do you sstill itch?"_ Harry removed a bit more skin from the end of Serin's tail.

The reptile squirmed a bit in Harry's grip. _"Not ass much."_

"_Let'ss get the resst off, it might sstop itching then."_

"_Ssure, hold your hand sstill."_

Harry obeyed, and Serin searched around a bit until he found one of Harry's fingers that had a nail a bit longer than the rest and began to forcefully rub his head against it.

"_Sserin?"_ Harry asked nervously, when the reptile scraped his eye against Harry's nail. _"Are you ssure that'ss ssafe?"_

"_I need to do this"_ Serin replied without stopping. _"I can't ssee properly."_

"_Are you ssure…"_

"_Jusst hold sstill."_

Harry did so, and after a few minutes, Serin managed to remove the scales from his mostly neglected head.

"_Much better."_ Serin said, before attacking the spots on his body that Harry had overlooked. After ten minutes of concentrated attention by both Harry and Serin, the last of the old scales peeled away to reveal glowing dark brown and black scales that shone in the moonlight.

"_Beautiful."_ Harry told him, reverently touching the new scales.

"_Thank you, Wizard-mine. I feel much better._" Serin sounded vastly relieved.

Harry grinned. _"No problem, it wass kinda fun."_

A companionable silence stole over the two of them and they sat there comfortably in the dark, neither of them willing to break the peace Harry had managed to find.

Eventually, Harry sighed and reached over the bedside table, and lifted Ginny's good luck charm from the polished surface. Placing Serin in his lap, Harry ran his fingers back and forth across the smooth curve of the shell. Absently, Harry wondered what kind of creature lived on the inside of the delicate spiral, and how it had died. Natural causes, perhaps?

Harry snorted. Being killed by another creature was natural. So was being pulled out of your shell to be consumed by humans. Harry hoped that hadn't been the fate of this poor creature. Maybe it died of old age? Perhaps it had lived many happy years and had lots of little spiral-shelled babies. Not that it mattered. In the end, it was still dead.

Wasn't that how things were with people as well? You lived, you died, and anything else you did in the intern was inconsequential? Well, Harry frowned, perhaps not inconsequential, but…maybe inevitable. After all, how else could there be prophecies?

Harry didn't like _his_ prophecy at all. No, not one bit. Who would? Harry couldn't think of a single person that would want to be in his shoes and be the one who is destined to either destroy or be destroyed by Lord Voldemort. The things that man did for pleasure…Harry shuddered.

His night time terrors had only gotten worse with his arrival at Grimmauld Place, and Harry was looking foreword to going back to Hogwarts in the morning. Now, instead of simply dreaming of Cedric's demise and the evil cackling laughter, Harry was confronted with Cedric's blood-stained corpse that spoke to him without words, accusing him of standing by and allowing Voldemort to kill him.

Then Cedric would shuffle slowly up to Harry where he was rooted to the ground and oh, so slowly, raise his arms and place them gently against Harry's neck in an almost-caress before grimy fingernails would dig into his skin and he felt a warm liquid pour down his chest.

Harry would stare dumbly down at his body, unable to comprehend that the flow of liquid was his own blood until it reached the ground and mixed with that of Cedric's that was flowing from Cedric's own gaping wound in his throat.

Harry would look up into Cedric's eyes and be caught in them, drowning in their depths until he woke, shaken and sweating from his own bed, Serin inevitably hissing in his ear soothingly.

Harry hadn't mentioned the dreams he was having to Dumbledore. He felt mildly guilty for that, after all, hadn't the Headmaster been very forthcoming with information concerning Harry and the prophecy? He'd even told Harry to keep the communication thingy so that he could always ask to see Dumbledore, even if he was unable to get to the Headmaster's office. Still, these were his personal demons, and Harry couldn't help but feel they were his to deal with.

Sighing, he looked down at the shell cradled in one hand and was unsurprised to discover that he had taken to petting Serin with his other. As much as the serpent loved to be petted, Harry liked to do it. The soft purring sounds Serin made were soothing to Harry and it wasn't uncommon for Serin to be in Harry's hands during their night-time ramblings instead of being hidden in Harry's hair.

Glancing about the room, a needle of amusement pricked Harry's' bubble of melancholy when he noticed the bits of snake skin that was scattered across his bed. _Probably should clean that up before morning. Wouldn't want somebody to come in here and see the shedding._

Sliding the shell into the pocket of his over sized jeans, Harry plucked his wand from the bed side table, twirling it about in his fingers momentarily before pointing it at the cast-off skin with a flourish and announcing softly, "Scourgify."

The skins vanished and Harry couldn't help but look at his wand for a moment in satisfaction. Despite the fact that he'd been taking magical classes, staying in a magical school, and basically being immersed in magic for the past five years, it had not taken away some of the sheer joy and amazement Harry felt at the little things magic could do.

Of course, being able to do magic was secondary to being _allowed_ to do magic. And the Ministry had a monopoly on that at the moment, which was why Harry had been so excited to find that spell in the library.

Harry let out a sigh of enjoyment as his Linkin Park CD spun around to the song "Numb" and he sat back, allowing the tune to wash over him.

I'm tired of being what you want me to be, 

**Feeling so faithless,**

**Lost under the surface.**

**I don't know what you're expecting of me,**

**Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes.**

Well, _that_ rather described Harry at the moment. _I mean, what do they want me to do about Voldemort? _

**Every step that I take is another mistake to you.**

_Ron will never be happy with me._

**I've become so numb,**

**I can't feel you there.**

**Become so tired, so much more aware.**

**I'm becoming this.**

**All I want to do is,**

**Be more like me**

**And be less like you.**

Why can't they just accept me for who I am? Why does everyone I know insist upon forcing me inside of this pre-labeled box that they have? Why can't Ron like me for me?

Harry shook his head as the rest of the song played out. Here he was, back where he started, thinking about Ron. Just where he didn't want to be.

I wish I could find a way to bring music with me to Hogwarts. It seems to be one of the only things making me feel better these days. Harry stared down moodily at his player as it spun brusquely in a circle. A thought struck him and he sat up straighter in his bed. Well, why not? There's a spell for all sorts of things, why not something to allow electronics to work around a high concentration of magic? …Something like a magical field reduction spell or something?

Harry's mind whirled in circles as he slipped from bed and shuffled his way down the hall. Absently giving Mrs. Black a nod, Harry disappeared into the Library and began scanning the titles.

ooOO00OOoo

The sun rose slowly and shone its unexpected light upon the page in front of Harry's nose. Having spent the majority of the night in the Library once again, Harry's eyes were feeling a bit worse for wear and he rubbed at them from under his glasses. _How Hermione does this day in and day out I'll never know._ Harry thought, slowly gathering the books scattered across the tables and putting them back in their places. _I wish I could have found something. But I guess that was just too much to ask._

Books put neatly away, Harry shuffled listlessly out of the Library and into the dining room where he offered, and was turned down, to help Mrs. Weasley cook breakfast.

Shrugging, Harry wandered up to his room and finished the last of his packing, storing his player carefully in a cushioned pocket of his trunk. A hot shower later, during which Serin got soap in his scales and Harry was highly amused, he was back downstairs in time for a quick breakfast before the usual return-to-school dance began, with everyone passing in the halls, frantically searching for some lost item.

Two hours later, the whole family was packed into the sidewalk and beginning the ten minute trek to the train station. They had to pause several times for various members to return to Grimmauld Place and get some item that they had left behind and absolutely _needed_ to have with them for their first few days at school.

Sirius had insisted on coming with them in his animagus form and Harry was a little peeved with him for it. Their late-night talks had revealed to Harry the deep seated frustration and boredom that Sirius was suffering from, which led him to feel a little sympathetic to the escaped convict, but that didn't stop him from being worried that someone would see Sirius and recognize him. After all, he had made quite a spectacle of himself two years prior in his quest to bring Wormtail to justice for the betrayal of Harry's parents to Voldemort, and his animagus form was rather well known now.

After a tearful good bye to Mrs. Weasley, and several promises to write and be good, Harry and Co. finally managed to escape onto the train and begin the search for a compartment to call their own.

Unfortunately, their goodbyes had taken far longer than they had hoped, and there wasn't a single compartment open. Ron had jokingly stated that they could just kick some firsties out of a compartment, but that had been met with black scowls and mutterings from Ginny and Hermione, while Fred and George thought it a grand idea, even to the point of diving into their bags of tricks in search of a dung bomb.

"That'll clear them right out!" one of them announced cheerfully.

"Yeah, and keep us from going in." Ginny had replied scathingly, causing the twins to wilt.

While Hermione dragged a very reluctant Ron off to the prefect's meeting, Fred and George wandered off to find their best friend Jordan, and Ginny and Harry settled into the only available compartment, one with a single occupant; a Mrs. Luna Lovegood.

"Hi, Luna!" Ginny said brightly, bouncing into the compartment and flinging herself down next to the girl. "How was your summer?"

"Fulfilling." The girl replied. "Me and my father were hot on the trail of the tri-nozed buzzlegumph, and we saw a quarkle, but our camera was too slow to catch it on film."

"Really?" Ginny said vaguely, mind obviously on other things. "Come in, Harry. And have a seat. Harry, this is Luna Lovegood, she's in my year. Luna, this is Harry."

"Hi." Harry said, waving at the girl a bit nervously. She had a strange air about her, as if she saw things no one else did. The newspaper that she held in her hands was upside down, and an oversized necklace of Butterbeer caps was strung about her neck on a bit of unassuming twine.

"Harry Potter?" Luna asked, and Harry cringed. Here was another person bound to be in awe of him for something he'd done as a child.

"Yes?"

"Have you seen a crumple-horned snorkack?" She looked at him with vague politeness, though her eyes were interested.

"Umm…" Harry wrinkled his brow. "No, I don't think so. What do they look like?"

Luna gave a tiny sigh and smiled bravely at him. "I was hoping you'd be able to tell me that."

Ginny laughed and shook her head, causing her hair to swirl about her head alluringly. "Don't worry about Loony, she asks everyone that question when she first meets them. Sometimes even before she knows their name."

Luna lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug and brought her newspaper up and hid behind it, humming something that sounded disturbingly like Darth Vader's death march.

Harry leaned over to Ginny and whispered in her ear. "Loony?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She whispered back, giggling a little. "She's a bit loony, and her name _is_ Luna Lovegood."

"_Sshe ssmelless nice."_ Serin informed him, in reference to Luna. _"Like outsside."_

Just then, the door opened and the cart lady stood in the hallway, her cart full of sweets dragging behind her. "Sweets from the cart?" She asked, kindly _not_ staring at Harry.

"Yes please!" Ginny said, jumping up and digging into her pocket for her stash of coins.

While Ginny was busy buying sweets, Harry addressed Serin. _"Ssmellss like outsside? How sso?"_

"Like dirt and growing thingss. Not like dust and black blood like the One That Knows."

"_What?" _Harry shifted a bit on his chair when he saw Luna peeking over the top of her newspaper at him. "_Who is the One That Knows, and who has black blood?"_ Harry struggled to keep his voice soft, but hissing like a snake was rather obvious, even _with_ all the noise Ginny was making.

"You are friends with the One That Knows, she spends all her time with the thin, dead trees, and spreading black blood over them with bird's feathers."

Harry shook his head and pondered his familiar's words. He knew that words were different in parseltongue, after all, there just weren't words for some things. From what Serin had said, he figured that 'black blood' was really ink and the 'thin, dead trees' was paper. But who was the 'One That Knows'? The rest sounded like Hermione, but why would Serin give her that name?

"_Are you talking about_ Hermione?" he asked.

"She's at the prefect's meeting, Harry."

Harry looked up to meet the piercing eyes of Luna. Apparently, she had lowered her newspaper and was staring intently at him.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, bewildered. Since when did Luna speak parseltongue? He thought only him and Voldemort had that ability.

"You were hissing to yourself, then you said Hermione's name. I thought you were asking where she was, she's at the prefect's meeting."

"Hissing?" Ginny closed the door behind the cart-lady and sat back down across from Harry. "Harry, were you talking to yourself in parseltongue?"

"Uh, yeah. I do that sometimes." Harry said uncertainly, he hadn't expected to get caught talking to Serin. But perhaps this was a good thing, if he let it known that he talked to himself in parseltongue, then he could talk to Serin whenever, and no one would be the wiser. Hopefully.

"Since when?" Ginny asked, offering him a chocolate frog.

"Er, this summer." Harry accepted. "I started as a way to frighten Dudley, since it isn't something that the Ministry can track, but I found that it was fun to insult them to their face and not have them know." He wished he'd actually thought of that, it _would_ have been fun.

"Bad family?" Luna asked, sounding disinterested.

"Yeah. They're Muggles and they don't like magic." Harry really didn't want to get into that.

She nodded her head gravely. "Damnant quod non intelligunt."

"I'm sorry?"

"We condemn what we do not understand." She clarified, before lifting her newspaper once again and reading it….sideways?

Ginny looked at Harry before shrugging and diving into her small mountain of sweets.

"_Yes, that is the One That Knows." _Serin spoke into the silence.

Harry nodded his head, wishing that he dared ask what other people's names were, but he didn't want to start talking parseltongue again, Luna was still peeking at him from behind her paper every once in a while.

Taking a chance, he whispered, _"Thankss."_ Before tilting his head and resting it on the window pane, watching, disinterested, as the countryside sped by.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, Ron and Hermione were in the middle of a shouting match, with Neville Longbottom trying desperately to calm them down while Ginny clutched tightly at her wand, looking almost as if she were about to hex somebody. Luna sat in the corner, a dreamy smile plastered on her face as she watched the ensuing chaos, unconcerned.

"Well, that wasn't very nice of them, was it?" She commented absently to him, one hand reaching up to fiddle with her Butterbeer cap necklace.

"What?" Harry asked blearily, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes, but Luna only smiled.

Abruptly, the door do the compartment slammed open and Pansy Parkensen stalked in, flanked on either side by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle "Would all of you just shut up?" She demanded of them crossly.

"Hey! Don't you tell us what to do, Slytherin!" Ron bristled and spat his the word 'Slytherin' as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"I happen to be proud to be a Slytherin if it means I'm not a dinky Gryffindor like you! Two prefects, standing toe to toe and yelling at each other for the whole train to hear, both of them just awarded their prefect status, and one of them the Brainiac herself!" Hermione flushed. Pansy folded her arms around her well-sized breasts and tapped her foot impatiently on the ground. "Are you two done here so the rest of us can carry on our conversations, or are you going to continue to scream at each other like two year olds?"

"You can't stop me from talking!" Ron cried, sounding _exactly _like a petulant two year old.

Harry tried to stifle his laughter, truly he did. Or, at least he put the _tiniest_ amount of effort into stopping it. But, it wasn't enough, and soon he was roaring with laughter at Ron, Hermione laughing right alongside him.

Ron flushed angrily, his complexion approaching the flame-red of his hair. "Shut up, you!" he yelled angrily, his voice rising in volume. "I don't have to take this garbage from you. You're nothing but a back-stabber anyway." He tossed his head and glared at Harry. "Why don't you—"

"Enough!" Pansy raised her wand, when had it gotten in her hand? And cast a 'silencio' upon Ron, leaving his mouth working soundlessly while his face got redder and redder. "If that's what it takes to shut you up, that's what you'll get. C'mon guys, let's leave the rabble to their games." Crabbe and Goyle uncrossed their arms from where they had been standing imposingly on either side of Pansy and followed her to the door of the compartment. Just before they exited, she turned back to look back inside the compartment and spoke into the room. "Do us all a favor and leave him that way the rest of the trip, hmm? He's much nicer this way." She grinned, unashamedly at Ron and slid the door closed.

It was only as everyone was disembarking from the train that Harry realized Malfoy had not been with them.

ooOO00OOoo

"What are those?"

"Hmm?" Hermione looked around, distracted, as she strove to collect all of the second years and herd them into the horseless carriages that took the upper years to the castle.

"Those!" Harry insisted, pointing his finger at the empty space where a horse would normally be.

"Harry," Hermione examined the space where he'd pointed, "there's nothing there."

"Yes, there is." Harry insisted. "I can see them. They're this…" he seemed to struggle for words as he stared intently at empty space. "Horse-thing. They've got four legs, a head and tail, and _scales._ With these bat-type wings on their backs and, I swear, fangs. What are they Hermione? Why haven't we seen them before?"

"Harry," Hermione explained patiently, "there really isn't anything there."

"Then why…" Harry stared, dumbfounded, at the creatures hitched in teams of two to the front of the wagons.

"Don't worry." Luna's dreamy voice floated up to them from behind. "I can see them too. They've always been there."

Somehow, that wasn't comforting.

"You can see one of Luna's crazy creatures?" Ginny asked Harry disbelievingly.

"Yes, I—what? No! I just..." Harry waved his hands about helplessly.

"Oh, for heavens' sake! Stop stalling and get _into_ the carriage already! You're holding things up. Go on, shoo!" Hermione flapped her hands at them as if herding a flock of birds.

"All right, all right…" Harry escaped the fluttering hands and warily walked around the scaly, winged, fanged, horse-_things_ and entered a carriage, sitting gingerly on one of the seats.

He was tense the whole ride, half expecting the horses to take off and drag the carriage behind them through the sky like the horses from Beauxbaton had drug their carriage.

Flying on a broom was one thing, it was relaxing when he wasn't competing for the snitch, but flying in a carriage being drug by demented horses from hell would be anything but relaxing, and Harry was anxious to keep _that_ off his list of things he'd accomplished in his lifetime.

Alighting safely at the other end of their trip, Harry quickly entered Hogwarts, Ginny, Neville and Luna at his back, as he tried to put as much distance between him and the hell-horses as possible. Luna waved casually at them and wandered over to sit at the Ravenclaw table, people snickering as she passed, though she appeared not to notice.

As the rest of the group sat down at the table, Hermione pulled Harry off to the side for a minute. "Harry." She said, "You need to tell professor Dumbledore about Serin."

"What? Why?" Harry frowned. "You know I don't want a lot of people knowing about him, it's not safe."

"I know, Harry." She insisted, "but you really should tell him. Professor Dumbledore isn't just anybody, and it is his school. You know the rules about pets."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, I know the rules, just as I know that they don't mean much. I mean, seriously, what about Scabbers, bastard that he is? He was allowed to stay as a pet besides the fact that he wasn't a cat or a bird. So what does it matter?"

"It matters, Harry, because you have to show the Headmaster that you trust him, or he'll have no reason to trust you. It's a two way street you know. He won't tell you anything else that you need to know if you aren't willing to share information with him." Hermione looked at him earnestly.

"Wh-what are you talking about, Hermione?" Harry asked. Had she heard about the prophecy somehow?

"Nothing, just…you need to tell him. Tonight." She glanced around and saw the doors to the great hall open with Professor McGonagall leading the first years in to be sorted. "Oh no! The first years are here, hurry!" Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him back to Gryffindor table where the two of them flung themselves into their seats barely in time. Still, they got a stern look from McGonagall as she passed by them and they knew they'd been seen talking away from their table before the feast.

The Professor set the Sorting Hat down on the stool and the whole school listened silently as the hat piped up, speaking about house unity and how each house was an asset to the name of Hogwarts, none of them were higher than the other. When it was done, the first years were sorted, and Gryffindor received 10 new members to welcome into its ranks.

Headmaster Dumbledore stood up and announced the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, a Mrs. Dolores Umbridge.

"Hey! That lady was at my hearing!" Harry cried sofly. "She said that the things the Prophet was saying about me were true, I didn't like her much."

Hermione actually turned her attention away from what the Headmaster was saying and studied the toad-woman sitting at the head table. Everyone else was soon paying attention to her as well when she actually _interrupted_ the Headmaster and began speaking. That didn't last long, however, for she was quite as boring as Professor Binns was and small pockets of conversation soon cropped up all around the room.

Only Hermione, a few Ravenclaws, the odd Hufflepuff or two and, surprisingly, Draco Malfoy were still paying attention at the end of the woman's speech.

_What's wrong with Malfoy, anyway?_ Harry thought as he looked at the Slytherin. _He didn't show up to bother us on the train, and he hasn't looked my way yet!_ And it was true. Draco Malfoy was keeping to himself, looking neither to the right, nor to the left as he listened intently to what the talking toad was saying, Crabbe and Goyle sitting at his sides as usual, but not as close as they once had.

To Harry's eyes, Malfoy looked both more and…less…then he had at the end of last school year. There was something different about him that was as indefinable as it was undeniable. From where he sat at the Gryffindor table, Harry could see a large ring twinkling on the ring finger of Malfoy's right hand. Though it was too far away for Harry to see properly, he'd bet a galleon on the fact that it bore the mark of the Malfoy family. His school tie as well had a new piece of jewelry, a pin centered on the middle of his school tie that looked like a closed eye. Those two pieces of jewelry stood out from the normal fair of students and Harry wondered how long Malfoy would be allowed to wear such gaudy things. They certainly weren't under the list of accepted jewelry for students.

Harry gave a purely mental snort. _You'd think that a Malfoy would have better taste._

"Interesting." Hermione said as the Headmaster stood up once more and continued with what he had been saying before the toad interrupted him.

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" Ginny asked. "She was worse than Binns!"

"Well, maybe if you had listened, you'd know that she got the job only because the Headmaster couldn't find a Dark Arts teacher in time and the Ministry forced her on us." Hermione sniffed.

"Hey, I heard about that." Neville said, "Something about her providing on-the-ground feed back to the Minister?"

"Yeah." Ginny said as the headmaster sat down and the feast began, "Seems that the Minister thinks Professor Dumbledore is training himself an army of students to take over the Ministry of Magic."

"What? That's ridiculous." Harry protested, filling his plate with foodstuffs. "Dumbledore has _turned down_ the job of Minister before, why would he need an army to get it now?"

Hermione shrugged as she took a bite of her food, chewing it carefully and politely. "Nobody said our Minister was logical." Coming from Hermione, that was a huge insult.

That neatly summed up the general consensus on the Minister of Magic, and talk soon turned to other things, mainly Quidditch, and who had a chance of beating whom to win the Quidditch cups this year.

At one point, when everybody's attention was elsewhere, Hermione leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear.

"Harry, you have to talk to Professor Dumbledore about Serin."

"You've said that before, Hermione."

"Well, you know I'm right." She insisted.

"Yes, you're right, and I'm going to talk to him after the feast." Harry conceded, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice.

Mollified, Hermione left Harry alone after that and the two of them continued their first meal of the school year in relative silence. Afterwards, Harry was left to cool his heals in the Great Hall while Hermione and a reluctant Ron let the first years to the Gryffindor common room and showed them their rooms.

After fifteen minutes or so, Hermione returned and the two of them headed up to the Headmaster's office to tell/ask the Headmaster about Harry keeping Serin as his familiar.

As they rounded the final corner that led to the Headmaster's office, Harry accidentally bumped into someone leaving Professor Dumbledore's office.

"Sorry, Harry." They said absently, and then stepped around him to continue on their way.

"Excuse me." Harry replied, and continued to walk on, only stopping when he noticed that Hermione was no longer at his side. "Hermione?" He queried, turning to look at her where she appeared to be rooted to the spot, her eyes gazing back the way they had come with her mouth open in a small 'o' of surprise.

Making his way back down towards her, Harry asked, "Hermione? What's wrong?"

"Harry, do you know who that was?" She asked softly.

He shrugged. "Some student. What does it matter?"

"He called you 'Harry'."

He shrugged again. "So? I'm the boy-who-lived. Everyone knows my name."

"Yes, but, Harry." Hermione insisted, finally turning to look at him. "That wasn't just anyone, that was Draco _Malfoy."_

ooOO00OOoo

Harry stared at Hermione a moment before shaking his head and silently walking away.

"What? Harry, what was that for?" Hermione called after him, hurrying to catch up. When she was finally at his side, she heard him hissing softly under his breath. "Harry?"

"Just hang on, Hermione. I've got to explain to Serin why Dumbledore needs to know about him, he doesn't trust the Headmaster." Harry explained before continuing to hiss softly.

"What do you mean he doesn't trust the Headmaster? Harry," She put a hand on his arm and pulled him to a stop. "What do you mean?"

Harry sighed and hissed something to Serin before turning his attention once again to Hermione. "I don't know, Cat, I don't know why. He just doesn't. Serin says he can't explain it. Something about smell?" His voice trailed off, rising at the end as his face took on a look of contemplation. Shaking himself, he looked back at her before starting to walk again. "It doesn't really matter. Serin says that he'll abide by our decision that Dumbledore needs to know, as long as we understand that when things go belly-up, he told us so." Harry rolled his eyes heaven word before giving Hermione a cheeky grin.

Glancing upwards, Hermione noticed that they'd finally made it to the Headmaster's office, and were now stopped in front of the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Sheepishly, Hermione glanced around. "I don't, uh. Suppose you know the password, do you?" She asked Harry in a tiny voice, chagrined at her lack of foresight.

"No." Harry commented off hand as he fished about in his pocket. "But I've got this." Withdrawing his hand, Harry presented Hermione with the communication device that Dumbledore had given him. "He said I could call him with this." So saying, he lifted the object to his mouth and spoke, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. "Headmaster? Me and Hermione are standing outside of your office and we've got something to talk to you about before the year starts, would you mind letting us in?"

Hastily removing the object from in front of his mouth, Harry stuffed it back into his pocked unceremoniously as the gargoyle leapt aside and Professor Dumbledore was revealed to be standing behind it.

"Of course Harry, Hermione, come in." Dumbledore turned to the side in the doorway and gestured for the two of them to proceed him up the winding stairs to his office. A few short moments later, the three of them were seated, with cups of hot cocoa passed around for general consumption. "Now, what can I do for the two of you?" he asked, leaning backward in his chair and steepling his fingers.

"Well, uh." Harry said, stumbling over his words. Confidence in Dumbledore's answer had brought him up here, but faced with somber blue eyes, he was suddenly unsure. "You see, this summer…I…uh,"

Hermione released a huff of annoyance. "What Harry is trying to say, Professor, is that Harry went and got himself a familiar over the summer."

"Indeed." Albus looked at Harry, eyes twinkling again. "Is this true?"

"Yes, sir." Harry answered, his voice small and soft.

"And what manner of creature is your familiar?" The Headmaster questioned softly.

"An Adder." Harry said, straightening slightly. Now that the initial admittance was over, Harry's confidence returned. It was always the initial parts that made him giddy.

"Indeed." The Headmaster repeated, resting the first fingers of his still steepled hands against his chin thoughtfully. "When did this happen?"

"The night I ran away."

"Ah." Albus nodded. "So you've had this familiar for your entire stay at the Headquarters, am I correct?" he tilted his head down a bit and peered over his spectacles at Harry.

"Yes, sir." Harry said, feeling guilty for not telling the Headmaster sooner.

"Hmm." the Headmaster's brow furrowed thoughtfully.

"In Harry's defense," Hermione piped up, "he didn't know how anyone would take Serin, what with him being a snake and Harry a parseltongue. He thought everyone would accuse him of going dark, and he thought it best to keep things quiet until he could figure how things would go."

"Yes, I can see how you would be concerned about that, Harry, but I must say I am rather disappointed that you only came to tell me about your familiar after Mrs. Granger here prodded you into it. I presume that is what you were talking about when you pulled him over to the side earlier this evening?" Albus directed his question at the new Gryffindor prefect, who blushed slightly.

"Yes, sir." This time, Hermione's voice was small.

"Well, this needs a decision, doesn't it?" Albus said energetically, sitting up in his chair. "Is your familiar here? May I see it?"

"Yes, sir." Harry said, reaching his hands towards his hair, the Headmaster's eyes following them with surprise. "Here." Harry removed a grumpy Serin from his hands and moved to hand him to Dumbledore. When the Headmaster made no move to accept the small reptile, Harry settled for cradling the serpent gently, unsure as to what to do next.

Albus reached up with one wizened hand and adjusted his spectacles to rest higher on his nose and looked through them at the tiny reptile. "Yes, indeed. An Adder, you say? Most interesting." He turned his head and gestured vaguely at Fawkes, his phoenix, who had been remarkably silent since the trio had entered the room. "If you would be so kind?" He asked.

Fawkes gave a quiet trill before spreading his wings and gently flying over to land on Harry's shoulder. "Quiirr?" he trilled, cocking his head to the side and staring intently at Harry.

Serin lifted his head from Harry's hands and hissed. "_What iss that?"_

"_A phoenix. His name is..._" Harry shrugged, knowing there would be no translation in parseltongue and he'd have to speak in English. "Fawkes."

"What was that, Harry?" Albus asked.

Harry looked up at the headmaster. "I was telling Serin that Fawkes is a phoenix and what his name was, but," he lifted one shoulder in a strangely elegant gesture, "there is no translation of Fawkes into parseltongue, so I had to say it in English."

Serin flicked his tongue out. _"He ssmellss like fire and…ssomething elsse. It reminds me a bit of you."_

"_Really?"_ Harry asked, intrigued.

"_Yess, though I don't know what it iss. Just…"_ Serin bobbed his head back and forth in helpless gesture _"that it ssmellss like you do ssometimess."_

"What are you saying, Harry?" The Headmaster asked again when Fawkes trilled softly and rubbed his beak gently against Harry's cheek.

"Well, Serin was saying that I smell a bit like Fawkes, or that he smells like me, I guess. But only sometimes." Harry raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly to show his lack of understanding. "I don't know where he gets that though." Harry turned his head slightly and looked at Fawkes with one eye, warry of his sharp beak. He'd seen what that beak could do to the Basilisk that had been hiding in the bowels of the castle on his second year. "What do you think?" he asked.

Trilling again, the phoenix hopped from Harry's shoulder, down his arm to rest on his lap where he was roughly eye-level with Serin. "Quiirr?"

Serin lifted his head higher, hissing, and Harry found himself strangely unable to understand what was being said.

Fawkes and Serin carried on a miniature conversation right there on his lap, with Hermione staring at them, intrigued, while the Headmaster smiled on above them all.

"What are they talking about?" Hermione asked softly.

"I don't know." Harry responded, bemused.

"What do you mean, you don't know? Can't you understand Serin?" Hermione asked rather sharply.

"Not really." Harry said with a shake of his head.

"That is not unusual, my dear." The Headmaster spoke as he took a sip of his cocoa. 'When a wizard, or witch, is lucky enough to speak the language of any particular animal, he or she usually picks a familiar of that same species. But when two familiars converse, as Fawkes and – Serin, was it? – are doing, they do so on a different level of understanding than that which occurs between a familiar and their bonded."

"_Wizard-mine?"_ Serin asked, as he and Fawkes finished their conversation. Fawked took off and flew over to Dumbledore where he landed, crooning in the old wizard's lap.

"_Yes, Sserin?"_ Harry reached up and gently stroked Serin, eliciting a soft purr.

"May I go with the phoenix tonight? He hass offered to take me. Ssayss he can sshow me ssome nice placess for mice."

"_Of coursse."_ Harry said, startled. _"What made you think you had to assk my permisssion? You can leave whenever you like."_

Serin chucked slightly under his breath. _"Jusst assking."_

"_Hmm, well then, ssure."_

Harry looked up and saw Dumbledore fondly stroking his familiar's bright scarlet plumage.

"Fawkes has informed me." The headmaster stated. "That Serin is a very polite snake, and he would be happy to have him here on the grounds. Apparently we have been having a horrible infestation of mice, and he has been hard-pressed to keep them under control this summer, and is looking forward to some help from Serin."

"Uh, Sir?" Hermione asked tentatively. "Does that mean…"

"Yes, my dear." The headmaster nodded gently. "Serin will be staying with us on the for this semester. I must congratulate you on an excellent hiding place for him, very well thought out. Few people mess with that hair of yours, my dear boy, and it is expected to be messy and untamable. Anything thought of moving in your hair will simply be passed off as one of those quirky things about your hair." His eyes twinkled merrily. "Don't think I haven't noticed that you didn't actually ask for him to be able to stay here, either. He was going to stay, regardless." He didn't make it a question.

"Uh, well…" Harry ducked his head and stared at the ground, while Hermione suddenly found the wood grain of Dumbledore's desk absolutely riveting.

Albus chuckled. "Then it is fortuitous, that he is to have Fawkes' approval, yes?"

Both Harry and Hermione simply nodded, neither raising their eyes to look at the Headmaster.

"Another fortuitous event," Albus continued, "Was your arrival here tonight. I was not planning on telling anyone this, but upon reflection, it seems to me that I would not be remiss in informing the two of you as to the events of tonight."

Curiosity raised both pairs of student's eyes to lock onto the Headmasters'.

"It seems that Voldemort has been active once again, this time in a raid upon Azkaban." Gasps accompanied his announcement, with Hermione's hands coming up to cover her mouth, eyes wide. "Indeed. It seems, however, that he was not completely intent upon rescuing his fallen followers. Oh, he rescued a few. A very few." He waved his hand about, seeming to indicate something outside of the room. "But his main goal appeared to be Lucius Malfoy." Albus watched while Harry's eyes narrowed, and Hermione's blanked out, revealing her brain working at it's rapid pace. "Voldemort has achieved some form of control over the Dementors, perhaps by promising them the ability to hunt freely at night once again. However he did it, they obey him now, and tonight they performed a most gruesome thing upon Lucius."

"Did they kiss him?" Harry asked with a growl, hoping it was true.

"No." Hermione said, a horrified look on her face. "No, they didn't kiss him at all, they did something much worse." She turned sightless eyes to stare out the window. "They gave him an Embrace."

"A hug?" Harry replied, flummoxed. "What's so bad about a hug?"

When Hermione didn't answer, Harry turned to the Headmaster, but found no information forthcoming, as Dumbledore was currently looking at Hermione with an odd, contemplative, look on his face.

"From a Dementor?" Hermione continued after a pause. "When a Dementor kisses you, it steals your soul. For a while, your soul is stored inside of it, where it sucks out your good memories, leaving you only with the bad. But once the good memories are gone, it steals the bad as well, weakening the soul to the point where it becomes nearly insubstantial and the Dementor is unable to hold onto it anymore. This is when the soul slips away and is reborn, nearly from scratch, with none of the old memories, good or bad, cluttering it up. But when a Dementor Embraces you instead…." She shuddered in her seat and huddled in on herself, as if a Dementor was in the very room. "It steals away the very essence of who you are, ripping everything away, yet leaving the soul itself intact. When this happens, a bit of the Dementor's essence flows into the person. This bit of essence soaks in and eventually turns the person _into_ a Dementor. How long this takes, we don't know, since it depends on outside factors, such as the actions of the person before they are Embraced. For some, it takes hours, or days. For others, years. But there is nothing to stop it, the persons' body becomes indestructible until such time as they complete the change, and after that, they are only susceptible to the patronus charm."

Straightening slowly in her chair, Hermione seemed to come to herself. After looking around a bit, she settled for staring down at the nails on her hands, absently rubbing at the ink smudges marring their sides. "That is why the Dementor's Embrace is so very horrible. With a kiss, you eventually escape, and are reborn. But since Dementor's cannot be destroyed, the Embrace is permanent, and escape: impossible."

Harry turned horrified eyes up to stare at the Headmaster. "And this happened to Draco's father?"

"I'm afraid so." Albus Dumbledore suddenly looked old beyond his years, his thin figure drooping in his chair. "Which is why I believe it imperative for you to leave Draco Malfoy alone for the rest of this year. I know that the four of you, including Ronald Weasley, have a history of conflicts, but it simply is not the time for such things. He has just had something deplorable happen to his family, and we owe him the time to grieve."

Harry and Hermione nodded amicably. "Of course." Hermione spoke for the both of them. "We'll leave him alone, but I don't know about Ron. The three of us are…" she paused, searching for words. "Not speaking at the moment, and haven't been for some time. Perhaps it is best not to tell him about Lucius Malfoy."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Yeah, with the mood he's in, he'll be more likely to use it against Malfoy than to keep it to himself."

"You believe so?" The headmaster questioned, frowning. "I'll have to look into this."

Harry and Hermione shared a glance. That wasn't what they had been hoping for it at all. How would it look if the Professor came down to referee their squabbles? No, that just wouldn't do. It would make the pair of them look like a bunch of whiny babies who couldn't handle their own problems.

"Please don't Professor" Hermione said respectfully. "It's just a schoolyard fight and we'll take care of Ron ourselves. We just don't think it would be smart to give him any more ammunition about any of us at the moment."

"It isn't that we think he'll use it on purpose." Harry said with a shake of his head. "It's just that when he gets mad, he doesn't think about what he's saying he just….grabs his biggest guns and goes charging in."

Albus leaned back into his chair and contemplated the youth's sitting across from him. "If you are sure…."

"We are, Sir." They said in chorus.

"In that case, unless the two of you have anything else to add, I believe it is almost curfew and you'd better hurry if you are to make it to Gryffindor tower in time. Best run along."

"Yes, sir." Hermione stood.

"Thank you, sir." Harry followed.

"Good night, children." The headmaster called after them as they shut the door behind them softly.

"Well, my dear." Albus addressed his phoenix familiar. "What do you think?"

Soft images shimmered in the forefront of his mind, and Albus nodded his head in agreement. "That is true, the two of them look to be much closer now that Ronald is out of the picture. I wish I had known about their split, however. I do hope it is not permanent; the three of them make an unstoppable team. It would be a shame to throw all of that away."

Again, Fawkes responded with an image. "Yes, Draco did seem older, somehow, when I called him up here tonight. Perhaps things will be different this year. The sorting hat was right, house unity must be our main focus this year, I've allowed it to be lax for far too long."

Fawkes trilled softly and leaned into Albus' caress. "Well, I'm glad that you have faith in me at least. I'll need it in the year to come."

ooOO00OOoo

Harry and Hermione were silent for most of their trip back to Gryffindor tower, both of them contemplating what they had learned.

Harry wasn't sure how to handle Draco Malfoy this year, but one thing was for certain, if what Hermione had said about the Dementor's Embrace was true, (and, honestly, when was she ever wrong?) then not even Lucius Malfoy deserved such a fate. Voldemort must have been in a true rage to have done such a thing.

"Hermione?" He asked softly as they waited patiently for one of the moving staircases to rearrange itself. "Why do you think Voldemort did that to Lucius?"

"I don't know, Harry. That's what I can't seem to figure out. It just doesn't make sense. Why destroy one of your most loyal followers so thoroughly? Surely, he must be worth more to Voldemort as a human than as a mindless, soul-sucking fiend."

Harry shrugged and didn't answer. What must Draco be feeling right now? To have his father turned into a Dementor! Harry shuddered slightly at the remembered creeping chill he had felt at Privet Drive.

Voldemort must truly be insane.

ooOO00OOoo

For those of you who are wondering, but unwilling to look for it on your own, I've posted a picture of an Adder for you to look at under my profile. Go see, go see!!

The idea for the Dementor's Embrace is not my own, sad to say. It comes from the wonderful author WoMo and the story of "Harry Potter and the Maw" Good story, go read! Anyway, I have PM'ed WoMo, asking for permission to use the idea, and it has been granted, so no grumbles about plagiarism from you people.


	10. Confusion

Chapter 10: Confusion

**Last time, on "Take My Hand":**

_Harry is attacked at Number 4 by Dementors where he manages to do underage magic and conjure a patronus to scare them away, thus saving himself and his porky cousin from certain death. In process, he manages to acquire for himself a familiar in the form of an adder by the name of Serin. When he escapes in the night, he is picked up by the 'Harry Potter Retrieval Squad' ™ and brought to 12 Grimmauld place where he has a fight with Ron and the two break it off. Hermione breaks things off with Ron as well and gets a tattoo of 'trust' in ancient runes on her left hip. Upon their arrival at Hogwarts, Harry notices that something is odd with Draco Malfoy, though he can't place it, and has bigger fish to fry in convincing the Headmaster to allow him to keep Serin with him at Hogwarts. With the intervention of Fawkes, Dumbledore agrees and Harry and Hermione head to the dorms for their first night back at Hogwarts – Home. _

Harry's return to the dorm that night was…uncomfortable. Room changes could be made during the first two weeks of the return to dorms, and on the first of every month after that, but for the first night, and until either Harry or Ron could find new room arrangements, they would just have to deal.

For Seamus and Dean, who hadn't been in the same compartment with them on the train, the tension was confusing and obvious, and though the two of them looked back and forth between Ron and Harry with consternation, neither of them actually asked what had happened, apparently not willing to begin an argument between two people who had been the best of friends only the year before.

Harry did his nightly routine quickly and quietly, with a minimal amount of fuss and slid into bed, carefully _not_ listening to what Ron was mumbling under his breath as he did his own quick clean up. The house-elves apparently were told about the schism between him and Ron because instead of putting their things on adjacent beds like previous years, the house-elves had placed their things on opposite sides of the room, as far apart as they could make them, displacing Neville from his bed by the door and moving him next to Harry. Ron, from his grumbling, thought that Harry had used his contact with the house-elves, Dobby, to get Ron moved from his rightful place in the room.

Harry thought Ron was being ridiculous; after all, he didn't really want to sleep by Harry anyway, but Ron felt shunned and that Harry was, once again, getting the preferential treatment that he never deserved, and that Ron never got.

That morning, Harry woke up early to slip quietly out of the room without dealing with Ron and was instead faced with a Ron who was awake and suspiciously alert; he usually was hell to wake up in the mornings for his classes. For a moment, they both paused in their beds, simply looking at each other from across the room, their antagonism forgotten in a moment of mutual surprise that Ron was lucid at…..4:00 in the morning? Harry shook his wrist with Dudley's broken-faced watch on it, then glanced out the window at the sun just beginning to peep over the horizon; no way it was 4:00, more like 6:30. Harry gave his watch a shake again, and then remembered that he was at Hogwarts again and that the gears and wheels of watches had just as hard of a time operating properly at the more delicate wires and switches of his CD player.

Harry frowned at that last thought as he climbed out of his bed, Ron's wakefulness momentarily forgotten in the face of this new problem. Harry had always known somewhere in the back of his mind that he'd be unable to listen to his music during his stay at Hogwarts, after all, he never had been able to before, but it never bothered him so much as it did now. Always before he'd had Ron and Hermione to distract him, Hermione more so with homework then anything else, but Ron was always up for a discussion about Quidditch, or, even better, a rousing game of chess in which he always beat Harry soundly. But now…Harry raised his eyes and met the curious look in the redhead's eyes. Harry supposed he must have been making some funny faces the past few minutes as the various thoughts ran through his head. Shaking his head slightly to clear away the morning cobwebs, Harry snatched the first pair of pants and shirt that his hands touched from his trunk and retreated to the bathroom away from Ron's gaze. There was a time when a moment like that would have ended in a smile and with Ron rolling over to go back to sleep, knowing that Harry would return from the showers and proceed to poke and prod Ron until he also got up and into the showers at a reasonable time. Now, Harry didn't know what would happen, but he desperately wished that Ron at least would continue with the norm and go back to sleep so that Harry could escape with a minimal amount of fuss.

"_Make it warmer."_ Serin hissed at him from his now-almost-constant position in Harry's hair.

"_Sserin…"_ Harry rolled his eyes as he lathered up _"It's plenty warm right now."_

"_No it'ss not. Make it warmer."_

"_I'm going to put a warming charm or ssomething on you, becausse thiss iss ridiculouss."_ Harry said as he increased the heat of the water _"I don't know how you can sstand it to be sso hot._"

"_If I get warm now, then your hair will keep me warm later."_ Serin explained as if to a little child. _"Fur keepss walkerss warm."_

"_Walkerss?"_ Harry paused in the act of detangling Serin from his hair so that he could wash it. _"What do you mean walkerss?"_

"_You walk, do you not?_" Serin questioned, curling around Harry's wrist.

"_Well, yes..."_ Harry said, seeing where it was going.

"_Then you are a walker."_

"_Thank you for that"_ Harry sighed as he squirted a portion of soap into his hair, washing it one-handed.

"_You're welcome."_ Serin lifted his head off of Harry's wrist and posed, nose in the air, as the water sprayed down. _"Ahh, nice and warm."_ Slowly, Serin opened his mouth and unhinged his jaws, his fangs descending from the roof of his mouth and sliding foreword to lock into place. The water beading on his head slowly ran down the length of his fangs and dripped off the ends, making him look menacing, with poison dripping from his exposed fangs. Taking a deep breath, Serin let out a low hiss, letting the whole world know that he was an _Adder_ and they had best tread lightly.

Harry chuckled weakly at the antics of his familiar, glad there were still things he could laugh about, with his life falling down around his ears.

Eventually, Harry and Serin both got cleaned up, this time avoiding the dreaded soap-in-the-scales condition, and Serin settled back into Harry's hair with a minimal amount of fuss. Emerging from the shower, Harry was pleasantly surprised to discover that Ron had indeed gone back to sleep, or at least, he was lying down and pretending to sleep. Either way was fine with Harry and he tip toed around the room as he gathered some books and paper, getting ready to start the new day.

Descending the stairs to the common room, Harry was unsurprised to see that Hermione was up and awake, already surrounded by a mountain of books and she frantically scratched something out with her quill.

"Morning, Cat." Harry said as he flung himself onto the couch next to her.

"Morning, Harry." She said brightly, her voice cheerful, though here eyes were suspiciously bright when she turned to greet him.

"Cat…?" Harry said, reaching out to lay a hand on her arm. "Are you alright?"

"Not really, no." Hermione admitted in a soft voice. "Things didn't go well last night when the queens of gossip discovered the 'golden trio' had broken up."

"Were they that bad?"

"Not terribly so, no. It's just that they're all so certain that we can patch things up, and I know that we can't." She shook her head, causing her ringlets to dance about her shoulders.

"You did your hair." Harry reached out with a hand to gently tug on one of the curls. "Looks nice."

She laughed derisively. "Thanks. Sad that it takes a break up with Ron to get me to actually care about my appearance."

Harry quirked a smile at her. "Let him see what he missed out on?"

"Not quite. More like, I've got to look nice for the rest of the world because I am NOT remaining single my whole life. I'll not let him ruin me for the rest of the guys. Though," she made a face. "there are some I'd rather stay away from."

Harry made a face as well, and then laughed, "I see what you mean, Crabbe and Goyle!"

"Ugh! Harry, that is disgusting, go wash your mouth out!" Hermione cried, grabbing up one of her oversized reading books and miming a smack at his head with it. "C'mon you, breakfast will be served soon. We might as well get there before the masses do."

ooOO00OOoo

Harry grumbled and groaned the whole way down the stairs and into the main hall. In fact, he was still mumbling under his breath as he and Hermione were taking their seats at the Gryffindor table.

"What are you so upset about, Harry?" Hermione asked him as she rearranged her books in her book sack at her side. "You seemed fine in the tower, so what's wrong now?"

"Ugh, I just remembered that I can't listen to music while I'm here. And I'm not sure what I'm going to do instead." Harry replied, a sour look on his face.

"What do you mean, 'what you're going to do'? Just do the same thing you do every year." Hermione replied, "Or talk to professor Flitwick you know he's always looking for a challenge."

"Flitwick?" Harry stared, gape-mouthed.

"_Professor_ Flitwick, Harry." Hermione corrected tiredly.

"That's an awesome idea, Hermione! Why didn't I think of that? If anybody can charm my CD player to work, it's him! Thank you!" Harry leaned over and gave Hermione a quick hug before jumping up and dashing up to the teacher's table where Flitwick sat, cheerfully wide awake and unashamedly grinning at a very sour looking Professor Snape. Harry dutifully ignored Professor Snape and struck up a conversation with Professor Flitwick, becoming more and more animated as the conversation progressed, gesturing wildly.

Hermione watched Harry hurry away with a small smile on her face before returning her attention to the papers she'd arrayed before her. Riffling her fingers along the side of the largest stack of papers, she lifted up the top quarter of an inch of paper and grabbed one of the pieced of paper in the middle. Without looking at it, she placed it on the bench beside her and then began to meticulously put all of her books and papers back into her satchel.

"It always creeps me out when you do that." Ginny said, sitting down across the table from Hermione with a yawn.

"Do what?" Hermione asked, picking up the paper from next to her and finally looking at it.

"That." Ginny said, picking up a glass of pumpkin juice and taking a sip. "When you just pick one paper out of a whole stack without even looking." She waved her hand at the paper in Hermione's hand. "And what's worse, is that you've always got the one you were looking for, no questions asked. How do you do it?"

Hermione gave Ginny a mysterious smile. "Organization, Ginny. Organization."

"He agreed!" Harry came running back to the table, a huge grin on his face. "Professor Flitwick agreed to try and charm my CD player to work at Hogwarts!" In his enthusiasm, Harry leaned over and gave Ginny a quick peck on her check, completely disregarding the rules of etiquette that stated that a male does not do such things to a female when she is in a relationship with another man, like Ginny was with Dean? at the moment.

Harry moved on quickly to load his plate with food, completely ignorant of the blush staining the cheeks of the redhead he had just kissed, or of the knowing smile on Hermione's face.

Due to Harry's overwhelming cheer, breakfast was a lively affair from then on and neither Ron's arrival, nor the distribution of the school schedules did much to diminish the glow that emanated from Harry.

"Geeze, Harry, turn it down a little would ya?" Neville asked as he stumbled into his place at the table, one of the last still open. "Since when are you this cheerful in the mornings?"

"Since Flitwick ("Professor Flitwick, Harry!!") agreed to design a charm to make my CD player work." Harry answered, his 1000-watt smile blazing bright.

"Really?" Seamus asked, loading his plate with food. "Think he'd be willing to do the same with mine?"

"Probably." Harry responded. "If you promise not to listen to it while in his class. That's what I had to do."

"I think I can manage that." Dean said with a grin.

"All right everybody." Hermione said eventually, grabbing her satchel and standing from the table. "I'm off to class, and if you don't want to be late, so should all of you."

ooOO00OOoo

"Uugghhh…" Harry moaned dramatically as he followed Hermione down the steps to the dungeon where his torturer awaited with, no doubt, newly thought out schemes to make Harry's life miserable. "Why did they have to make Potions after lunch, anyway? I think I might puke."

"It wouldn't be so bad, Harry, if you hadn't stuffed yourself with food at breakfast." Hermione admonished mildly, no sign of sympathy in her voice at all.

"What's this I hear?" A voice sneered at them from around the next corner. Stepping out from behind it was none other than Draco Malfoy. "Harry Potter eating like a pig at breakfast? How shocking. And here I thought it was the Weasel who always ate with more enthusiasm than any animal has a right to. Are you trying to take his place in Hermione's heart by imitating him now, Potter?"

"Ah, there you are, Ferret-boy. I was wondering when you'd crawl out from under your rock. Then again, you probably only came out because you'd eaten all the bugs that were under there, and you're starving for more." Harry responded smoothly, looking unperturbed.

"And I've found one, haven't I? Best be careful, Potter or I might just snap you up. A fitting end to an unfitting life, no?"

"I like thiss one." Serin hissed his observation into the argument. 

"_Sshut up Sserin, not now."_ Harry hissed back, annoyed.

"What's this? Talking to yourself are you, Potter? And in _parseltongue_ no less? Are you _trying_ to come off as an agent of the Dark Lord?" Malfoy sneered his best; the new additions to his wardrobe making his words seem crueler, somehow.

"Oh, no. Not again. It's the first day of school, guys, don't you have anything better to do?" Hermione said, dejected.

"No." Came the double response from both Harry and Malfoy at the same time.

"Well, well. Who'd have thought, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy actually agreeing on something? The world must be ending." Harry recognized Ron's voice and knew things were only going to get worse.

"Ah, speaking of bugs, I believe I've found one. It's your lucky day, Potter, now I don't have to eat you." Malfoy turned his head towards the approaching Ron gracefully, not a hair out of place on his shining head.

"A bug, am I?" Ron replied, anger creeping into his voice already. "Then what does that make you? A leg-less worm?"

"Ah, excellent observation, Weasel, a worm has no legs. Did your mommy teach you that last night when she came to tuck you in? I hear you can't sleep unless she sings you a lullaby." Malfoy brought one of his hands up and casually inspected his nails.

"I think you're mixing up Ron's mother with your own." Harry said, unwilling to see Ron go undefended against Malfoy, friend or no.

"Don't you go defending me to my face Harry Potter!" Ron spat at him, the rage in his face beyond that which would be expected. "I know the things you say about me behind my back, and they're no better what Malfoy says now!!"

"Ah, what joy." Malfoy said, bringing both his hands up and placing them over his heart dramatically. "It warms my heart to see such good friends interacting. Truly, it does." He dropped his hands and lowered his brows. "I always knew you were too stupid to live, Weasel. Potter is one of those sickeningly good-hearted people. He is actually incapable of talking bad about anyone—other than myself, and our dear Potions master—behind their backs."

Hermione plucked Harry on the sleeve, and he bent over, the two of them placing their heads close together, speaking softly. "Did Draco Malfoy just defend you to Ron?" she asked incredulously.

"I—I think so." Harry said, dumbfounded. "But—why?"

She shook her head, mystified. "I'm not sure. I never expected this to happen."

"Me neither. I wonder what's gotten into him." Taking a glance at the other two boys, he continued. "Actually, what's gotten into both of them."

"I don't know. From the way this year has started, I'd say it's only going to get stranger." Her lips twisted in a wry smile. "Of course, I'm not really one to say much about strange stuff, being Muggle-born, sometimes the idea that magic is real is still surprising to me."

"Really?" Harry asked. "I get that sometimes too. For me, it's even stranger, because I _should_ know about this stuff. I just don't."

"Yeah, I know what you—" Hermione paused, her eyes glazing over for a second. "Uh-oh."

"What?" Harry asked hurriedly.

"We'd better get out of here. Snape's coming, and it's not going to be pretty."

Harry nodded and grasped her elbow, both of them hurrying away towards the classroom. As they rounded the corner, Harry couldn't help but take a glance back towards the two squabbling boys. Ron's face was cherry-red and he was gesturing wildly, his voice overly loud, and his wand in his hand, sparks flying from the tip. Malfoy was speaking softly, Harry couldn't hear his words, but his face remained calm, almost serene. Glancing down at the hands half-hidden in sleeves, Harry noticed the tip of Malfoy's wand peeking out of his left-sleeve, ready to defend its owner.

"Sly little bastard." Harry muttered before turning the corner and hurrying after Hermione.

ooOO00OOoo

Potions, was both better and worse than it had been in the past for Harry. Without Ron at his side to distract him, Harry found that he did marginally better on his potion. Or perhaps that was because Snape was busy sneering down at Ron from his position at the front of the classroom. Snape had somehow acquired an old cone that was now sitting atop Ron's head, the words 'dunderhead' emblazoned in large letters around the side of the cone and a bright, flashing red arrow pointing down at Ron, whose face was just as red as it had been in the hallway, thought now from embarrassment instead of anger, though there was a bit of that as well.

"Sick, isn't he?" Hermione mumbled under her breath as she reached across the table in order to grab a jar of newt's toes.

"Yeah, kinda. I just wonder what went wrong with him, y'know?" Harry nodded, his eyes still on Ron, his hands stirring the cauldron mechanically.

"There's no telling. You never really know what kind of childhood these purebloods get. What kind of things they're taught. I'll bet there are all kinds of spells and things that he knows and we don't. And we'll probably never learn them, because he has years of experience on us." Hermione frowned into her potion and stirred it counter-clockwise once before adding a drop of ashwinder's venom to the exact center of the mixture.

"Yeah, you're probably right, but what does it matter? He's over there, and we're over here, and nothing is going to bridge that gap." Harry stated sadly.

"I don't know about that. He's doing a pretty good job of bridging that gap from what I hear." Hermione increased the heat on her potion by 3 and a half degrees centigrade.

"Calling people names and trying to start fights does not count as bridging a gap between purebloods and Muggle-borns, Hermione." Harry stated, copying her.

"No, but he has done other things as well."

"How? Hermione, it's only the first day of school." Harry frowned at her.

"Yeah, but we've been in school for 4 years now, we've had time to make and burn bridges. I'm just saying that he has a history of such bridge building. Too bad he's chosen such a…" she paused an curled her lip disdainfully, "distasteful way of doing it."

"He's being distasteful about things alright. Though right now, I'm sure he wishes he was anywhere but where he is." Harry said, laughter coloring his voice.

"Hmm." Hermione tapped her finger against her bottom lip, frowning in concentration as she stared at the ingredients laid out before her. Removing her hand, she ran one finger down the page of the book at her hip before deftly snatching a mysterious glowing green powder and throwing it into the fire under her cauldron. Instantly, the metal of her cauldron changed color and texture to from pewter to something more closely resembling a muddy brown paste. "I'm not so sure about that. He looks like he's having a lot of fun over there. What with Professor Snape being so preoccupied with Ron over there"

Harry paused and looked over at Hermione, his hand half-raised to drop the next ingredient in. "'Ron over there.'? Who are you talking about, Hermione?"

Hermione pause as well. "Why, Blaise Zabini, of course."

"What? Since when?" Harry asked, mystified.

"Since always, Harry. Who did you think I was talking about?"

"Why, Ron Weasley, of course." Harry echoed.

"Oh." Hermione made a small sound of surprised horror.

"Talking about your dundehead friend again, Potter?" Snape sneered from directly behind Harry.

Harry took in Hermione's distressed gaze and then turned slowly about to meet his fate. "No, sir, Professor. I was just talking to Hermione about the potion we are working on."

Harry heard a small gasp of surprise from Hermione when she heard him telling such a bald-faced lie to their teacher.

Snape's lip curled in a parody of a smile

"Ten points of Gryffindor for talking in class without permission and another twenty for lying to a teacher. You really should work on that compulsive need to lie you seem to have acquired, Potter. You're never going to get anywhere like that. Not like you'll go anywhere in life anyway."

Harry simply nodded and went back to work. Sometimes, fighting with Snape just wasn't worth the energy. After all, Snape was the Professor, and he would always win.

ooOO00OOoo

It was later on that night after all classes had been dismissed that Harry and Hermione got back onto their discussion from Potions class.

"So what were you talking about in Potions anyway, Hermione?" Harry asked, setting his quill down and lacing his fingers together. Raising his linked hands above his head, Harry arched his back and felt the bones down his spine snap back into alignment.

Hermione cringed, then said, "I do wish you wouldn't do that." She shook her head. "Anyway, I was talking about Blaise, why?"

"Well, it seemed rather random is all. I mean, where did he come from? Since when did you pay any attention to Blaise Zabini?"

"Hmm, I guess it would seem rather random to you, since you don't always walk in the same circles I do." Hermione frowned. "I don't think I'm supposed to tell you this. Since you're a guy, but…" she thought for a moment more, then shook her head. "No, it's okay, you can tell best friends."

"Uhh, Hermione? What are you babbling about?"

"Nothing." She sat up straighter in her chair. "Girls have a list, of sorts, of all of the most attractive boys in school, and they keep replacing the places on the list with different people, depending on how they act and who they date."

"What?"

"Well, Draco Malfoy was on the top of the list for a long time, but he's slowly been declining since he hasn't dated anybody. People are starting to wonder."

"Wonder? What?" Harry asked dumbfounded.

"Shh, I'm sharing secret information with you, be patient." Hermione admonished. "Well, Malfoy's not at the top anymore, since he's not dating, and a couple of the other guys were about to move into his spot at the start of this year, but they've all just turned into assholes over the summer so it seems that the number one spot is still open for now. But!" Hermione held one finger up into the air. "There is one guy who is attracting a lot of female attention right now, and that is Blaise Zabini."

"That guy? Why?" Harry leaned across the table towards Hermione, as if that would help him understand the mysteries of women.

"Because he's being kind."

"Kind? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything, you goof." Hermione gave a slight huff of annoyance. "He's being nice to girls of all ages, and _from all houses._ Sarah Hutchins, a first year here in Gryffindor, got lost after breakfast and somehow ended up down in the dungeons. Blaize found her, and instead of making things worse and laughing at her like he could have, and how, honestly, you know we would have had we found a Slytherin up here, he was kind to her and showed her back up to the Great Hall, explaining things about how the stairs worked and how to avoid getting lost in the future. He even drew her a rough map of how to get to her next class so she wouldn't be late."

"Yeah, okay. I guess that counts as kind." Harry nodded.

"Of course it counts! And not only does it count, he's gotten more attractive over the summer as well. By potions, Blaise had most of the school's female population about to fall to his feet in wonder and it was just making me sick. I'm sure he knows exactly what he's doing and he's enjoying it." She made a disgusted face.

Harry snorted. "Heck yeah, he's enjoying it. I would too!"

"No you wouldn't, Harry. If all of the schools females fell to your feet in adoration, you'd run screaming in the other direction, sure they'd all been cursed."

Harry nodded with mock sincerity. "There is that. Girls are scary creatures."

"Mmm…indeed we are. Best be careful, Harry. One of these days, we'll all turn into Zombies and try to eat your brains. What you'll think is adoration, will really be a cleaver ploy to get close enough to crack your skull open."

They both nodded solemnly.

They stayed straight faced for a moment more, and then both of them cracked up laughing.

ooOO00OOoo

Would you look at that! A new chapter! Will wonders never cease?


	11. Bathroom Business

Chapter 11: Bathroom Business

They had been studying, and hanging out, for a few hours when Hermione finally sighed and stood up around 9:30, saying that it was time for her to head out on her patrols.

"Patrols? This early? It's only the second night, Hermione." Harry complained. He hadn't gotten to talk to Professor McGonagall at all; she'd been busy in a meeting all day and he hadn't been able to change his room assignment yet. To pass the time, he'd been hanging out with Hermione which, of course, involved, (gag, yuk) doing the copious amounts of homework that the teachers had already piled on them.

Now that their homework was done, Harry was finally starting to relax, and she had to leave? That would leave him alone in the company of a bunch of people who were dying to know what had happened between him and Ron. Or, worse yet, he was going to be left in the company of Ron himself, and THAT was a most unpleasant thought.

"I'm afraid so, Harry. After all, I am a prefect now, and part of my duty as a prefect is to patrol the halls at night to catch kids who sneak out of their beds." Hermione stood, packing the last of her books and papers up for the night.

"Yeah, I know," Harry sighed, "I guess I just don't want to be alone right now."

"You don't want to be alone? How do you think I feel? I've got to patrol with Mr. Bad Temper himself." Hermione said disgustedly.

"You what? You do?" Harry queried.

"Yeah, he's a prefect, remember?" Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, yeah! That's great!" Harry's eyes lit up and his smile widened.

"Yeah, great." Hermione said sourly.

"Sorry, Hermione, but I'm glad that I'm not the one to go patrolling with him tonight. At least he still seems to _like_ you. Most days I'm pretty certain he would almost rather see me dead than see me at all." Harry shook his head.

"Don't say such things, Harry, it's not so bad." Hermione admonished softly. "He'll come 'round one of these days, you'll see."

"They are, Cat, and you know it. But thanks for trying to cheer me up anyway." Harry smiled slightly at her before standing up. "Go on." He said, making shoo-ing motions with his hands, "You've got some hallways to patrol, and I've got some room arrangements to figure out. Maybe I can get one of the guys in the other rooms to switch with me."

"Is that such a good idea?" Hermione asked, on the verge of leaving. "After all, you don't know any of the other guys in our year. You'll be moving in with a total stranger."

"Yeah, I know, but it's not like I can stay where I am, is it? At this point, I'd rather live with a stranger than live with him, it's just too awkward." Harry shrugged, "Besides, the guys just stare at me when I walk in the room and I can tell they are just desperate to ask what happened, and one of these days, one of them will."

"Would that be so bad? You could just tell them, and then they wouldn't keep staring at you." Hermione shifted her bag a bit in her hand.

"Not really, because then they'll feel like they should do something to help and that just isn't what I want to happen. At this point, I'm rather relieved not to be friends with him anymore, and I don't want to have to tell anyone that, it'll just cause more of a ruckus, which is what I'm trying to avoid in the first place." Harry shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "Also, I've got to hide Serin, and that'll be easier with a bunch of guys who don't know me and my habits. Over all, I'd just rather leave and be done with it."

Hermione nodded her head. "Well, I guess it's up to you, but, somehow, I just can't see you rooming with a different bunch of guys."

"It will be strange." Harry admitted.

"That's true." Hermione agreed.

"…" Harry smiled. "Go on. You've got patrol, and I'm still keeping you. We've got time to talk later."

"Sure." Hermione turned and dashed up to her dorm.

A moment later she was back down, everything stashed away, presumably neatly, save for her wand, which went in the side pocket of her robes. As she headed for the door, Hermione paused, before running over to Harry and giving him a quick, but fierce hug. "You know I love you, right?" She said in a rush.

"Uhh." Harry stuttered. "No…Yes…" He waived his hands uselessly behind her, unsure of what to do or say in the face of such a statement.

"It's okay, Harry." Hermione said, pulling away with a smile. "I don't expect you to say the same in return; I just wanted you to know that I_ do_ love you. And that's something I never expected to say to anyone but family." She patted him on the cheek softly with one hand, apparently enjoying his look of red-faced embarrassment. "Don't stay up all night!" Hermione called and walked away with a bright smile and a jaunty wave, leaving Harry standing alone, still spluttering mentally.

ooOO00OOoo

As she walked to the meeting place for all prefects about to begin their nightly rounds, Hermione couldn't help but hum softly to herself in satisfaction. She usually considered herself to be an observant soul and it had come to quite a shock when Hermione had come to the realization that Harry never said, "I love you," to anyone.

Amongst family and close friends, it was common for people to say, and most times, mean, a friendly "I love you," even if only said playfully. Harry never did. He rarely instigated hugs, and the only touch he offered voluntarily was the consolatory kind.

And he never talks about his home life anymore. Not since Ron and the twins helped him escape from the room they had locked him in that one time. No matter what we ask, or how carefully we phrase the words, Harry only clams up when we mention his aunt and uncle. Maybe I can get him to relax a little bit. If he doesn't chill out soon, he's going to crack, and who knows what'll happen then .Of course, I'm not sure how much good I'll be to him if I don't manage to chill out myself. She thought. After all, I've got quite a bit on my plate right now as well, and my stress level is a little on the high side. It has been for a while now, and with O.W.L.'s starting this year, things are going to be crazy enough as-is. Maybe I should find a hobby, something I can really sink my teeth into and run with. Hermione paused in the hallway as this new thought struck her. Yes! A hobby! Something to do when I need to unwind that doesn't involve more studying.

Hermione, for all of her bookish enthusiasm and her uncanny knack to understand things on the deepest level, still could get tired of studying and learning , just like any other normal person. It just took her longer than most. But if I could find a hobby that was both relaxing and mentally stimulating… her thoughts trailed off as she contemplated the various things she could take up doing. Harry seemed to favor flying, but that was out of the question for Hermione. She'd flown as high and as fast as was necessary to achieve a passing grade in the flight class first year, and had completely skipped on the rest of the classes, which were, fortunately, optional. Flying and divination were the only two classes that Hermione had taken in her whole life that she did not feel an overwhelming urge to get a perfect grade in. Perhaps that is because I thought they were both such stupid classes. I mean, why bother learning how to fly if you can just apparate? Or, even better, walk? Of course, there are the anti-apparation wards, but those don't bother me too much. Hermione brought one recently manicured fingernail up to her mouth and taped delicately on her lower lip with the tip of one finger. But a hobby will be difficult to find. I'll have to find one that'll last me a lifetime, these temporary hobbies are fun, but the end is always a little bid depressing, since I'm once again left without something to do in my free time. Nodding sagely, Hermione glanced up and realized that she had been dawdling in the hallway long enough, and had better get going or she'd bee horribly late for the prefects meeting.

In true Hermione fashion, she walked in just as the clock in the great hall announced, in its magically enhanced and pleasing voice, that it was now midnight and all good students were to be in their dorms.

"Ah, here you are, Hermione. Right on time." Professor McGonagall said as she walked up to the group congregated at the foot of the head table. "We're just waiting on a few of our new prefects to show up, and we should be able to get this meeting started."

Hermione nodded her understanding and spent her time straightening her clothes and remembering all of the various things that she should do in the event of finding a student out of bed, most of them dependant upon what she caught them doing.

After five minutes, all of the prefects had arrived, with the sole exception of Ronald Weasley.

"Hermione?" Professor McGonagall called to her as she walked up to the bushy haired prefect. "Do you know where Mr. Weasley is?" The old woman's steel gray hair was pulled back into a sever bun, accentuating the sharp plains of her face and bringing the wrinkles on her brow into stark relief.

"No, Ma'am. I'm afraid I don't." Hermione answered truthfully, if a bit hesitantly.

"You don't?" the Professor queried in surprised. "Why ever not?"

"Well, you see, Ma'am." Hermione fiddled with the hem of one of her sleeves, "He, Harry, and I got in a bit of a fight over the summer and we aren't really on speaking terms anymore."

"Truly? I'm sorry to hear that." The Professor said mildly, patting her on the shoulder absently.

"Yes, Harry was hoping to talk to you about room changes today, but he wasn't able to see you."

"I'm not surprised." McGonagall said, "I was in a staff meeting just about all day." She paused. "But you really don't know where Mr. Weasley would be?"

Hermione gave a shrug. "He's probably in his dorm, asleep. I wouldn't be surprised if he's forgotten about the meeting and patrol, and gone to bed."

"Hmm, well, that just won't do." McGonagall frowned. "Go back up and fetch him, would you? I'll get this meeting started without him. I assume you know everything I'll be covering anyway?"

"About what to do if we catch anyone and how many points we can take off depending on what they're doing?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, Miss Granger."

"Yes, ma'am, I know it."

"Then you'd best get going. See if you can be back here in about ten minutes. We should still be in the meeting then. But in case we aren't..." Professor McGonagall trailed off.

"I know ma'am. I'll tell him on the way down." Hermione nodded brusquely, already steeling herself for one very bad conversation.

"Thank you. Now, you'd best be off."

"Yes, ma'am." Hermione turned and left the meeting with sure footsteps and a straight back, knowing that she'd need all of her Gryffindor courage to face Ron again. She hadn't spoken to him alone, or been alone with him since that break up 'conversation' she'd had with him when he'd called her…. Hermione shook her head, and lengthened her stride, swinging her arms purposefully. She was not going to allow Ron to intimidate her.

As she pushed her way through the double doors that led into the entrance hall and back to the many sets of stairs that wound their way up to the Gryffindor tower, Hermione was unaware of the pair of eyes that followed her progress through the great hall.

Such an odd girl. The owner of the eyes thought. Almost as bad as Loony Lovegood. I wonder what is going on inside of that mind of hers?

ooOO00OOoo

In all too short a time, Hermione was back in front of the portrait of the fat lady and gaining entrance into the common room.

"Hermione? Back already? What about patrol?" Harry asked from his position on the sofa where he was reading Quiddich through the Ages.

She gave a gusty sigh. " You know where Ron is? He didn't show up for the meeting before patrol and Professor McGonagall sent me back up here to see where he was, and to bring him down."

"Uh-oh." Harry said. "He's in the dorm, I think. That's not going to be any fun, Cat."

"I know, Harry. Believe me, I know." She shook her head sadly before squaring her shoulders and marching up the stairs to the boys' fifth year dorms.

Reaching the doors, she knocked firmly on the door and waited patiently. She didn't have to wait long.

"Hermione?" Neville blinked. "What're you doing here?"

"Is Ron there? He was supposed to have been at the prefect's meeting before patrol and he never showed up." She peered over his shoulder and into the room.

"Uh, yes, he is, but he's in the bathroom right now. He should be out, um, soon." Neville said, his face getting red.

"Thanks Nev." Hermione said, stepping into the room as Neville opened the door wider to allow her admittance. "Seamus, Dean." She nodded at them. "How are you?"

"Pretty good. Trying to do our homework." Seamus said.

"And failing miserably at it." Dean put in.

Hermione smiled slightly. She always laughed on the inside when people told her that they were 'doing homework' when she asked how they were. She didn't expect people to do homework every hour of every day, she just wanted them to do it before they went off and played wizard's chess.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Hermione said blandly. They all knew that they were lying to her, but what did it matter? She wasn't here to be their nanny. And I'm going to stop doing it this year too. It's going to be the year of change for me. She thought firmly to herself.

"So what are you really doing?" She asked them, amusement coloring her voice.

"Um…what?" Dean asked, nervously.

Hermione simply waited, a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye.

"Hah, she got you guys." Neville said with a laugh as he went over to flop on his bed. "She knows you aren't studying. You never are."

"Shut up, Nev." Dean said good-naturedly

Neville laughed and threw his hands up in the air. "Hey, I'm just telling the truth. You never study."

"That's okay, Nev." Hermione said, amused. "Some people don't need to study."

Seamus snorted. "Like you?"

"Hardly." Hermione said, "I need to study a lot. There are so many things that I don't understand, how could I not?"

"Hermione..." Neville said softly. "Maybe you shouldn't study so much. I mean, what happens if one day you've learned all there is to know from books? What then? Or what if," he continued as a thought seemed to strike him. "What if you wake up one day and you're life has passed you by while you sat and read a book?"

Hermione sighed. "You're right, Nev. I don't want to wake up one day and realize that I'm an old miser who cares for nothing and no one but my books. Which is why…" she said with a twinkle in her eyes, "I've decided to take things easy this year, maybe find a boyfriend."

"Are you serious?" Seamus asked, incredulous.

Hermione laughed. "Yeah, I am. Hard to believe, huh? Hermione, the biggest book-worm of them all, wants a boyfriend."

"Never thought I'd see the day." Dean mumbled sotto voice, but still distinct enough to be heard.

"Shut up, Dean!" Hermione laughed, grabbing a pillow from the nearest bed and throwing it at him.

Seamus, seeing the gob smacked look on Dean's face at such an unexpected, and, frankly, juvenile action coming from Hermione, of all people, fell off of his bed in laugher.

"Shut up, Seamus!" Dean cried, throwing the pillow at him, and managed to smack Seamus square in the face, just like Hermione had.

"Shut up, Nev!" Seamus yelled, and threw the pillow at him, when he saw that Neville was laughing at the three of them, a goofy grin on Seamus' face. After that, the room dissolved from a short discussion to an all-out pillow fight that ended with the four of them slumped in the middle of the floor, all leaning against each other's backs, their feet sprawled out in front of them, catching their breath.

"Where is Ron, anyway?" Hermione asked into the silence of descending feathers.

ooOO00OOoo

"HERMIONE!!!" came Ron's voice, loud and long, with a bit of a quaver at the end as he trailed off into silence.

There was a moment of silence as everyone in the room sat up from their slumped positions on the floor and turned to look at the locked door that led to the bathroom.

"Was…..was that, Ron?" Hermione asked softly.

"Er, well. Maybe." Said Seamus hesitantly.

"Why was he screaming? And why did it take him so long to go to the bathroom anyway." She suddenly sat up straighter. "Oh my god! The prefect's meeting!!" Hermione climbed quickly to her feet and dashed over to the bathroom door, and began to pound on it with a fist. "Ronald Weasley! You get out here right now, we've got a prefects meeting to go to. Professor McGonagall sent me up here to get you and you've kept me waiting long enough. What are you doing in there anyway? Get out here!"

Across the room, Neville lowered his hand from where he had raised it to stop Hermione's assault on the bathroom door. The three guys exchanged looks of helpless horror when they heard that Hermione was demanding that Ron come out of the bathroom. They knew; she didn't want to know what he'd been doing. Not really.

"Ronald!" Hermione cried again, stomping her food in frustration.

"Hermione!" Dean said, standing up and crossing the room to stand at Hermione's side. "Just, give him a minute, okay?" Taking her elbow, he gently steered her across the room to where the other two were industriously cleaning up the spilled feathers.

"A minute?" Hermione said indignantly, craning her head to glare at the bathroom door. "He's been in there for ten minutes! It can't possibly take ten minutes to use the restroom, even if you bring a book!"

"A book?" Seamus looked crossways at her. "You bring a book to the bathroom?"

"No. I'm just saying that not even a book should make you take that long." Hermione explained patiently. "Where…?"

Just then, the bathroom door opened and a very red-faced Ron emerged, looking slightly rumpled.

"There you are!" Hermione said, escaping Dean's grasp and marching over to Ron. As soon as she reached him, she began to automatically straighten his clothes, smoothing his collar down and re-tying his tie. "What took you so long? You were supposed to be at the meeting fifteen minutes ago."

"What about you?" Ron countered, shame-faced. "Looks like you guys had a pillow fight in here."

"That's because we did." Hermione said, unabashed. "I'll have you know that we fought for less than three minutes, can you say the same?"

"Well…" Ron ducked his head and shuffled his feet.

"Come on then." She said brusquely. "Professor McGonagall is probably horribly mad at both of us by now. We'd best get going." Turning on her heel, Hermione marched to the door, followed by a subdued Ron; she knew that wasn't going to last long. At the door, she paused, "Thanks guys, I had fun. We'll have to do it again sometime."

"Sounds good!" Neville piped up as he emerged from where he had been 'cleaning' behind his bed, feathers scattered about in his hair.

Hermione chuckled. "See ya." Waving at the boys, Hermione left the room, Ron still following, but by the time they'd descended the stairs and entered the common room, the red on his face had changed from one of embarrassment, to one of anger.

Uh oh. Harry thought as he watched the two of them troop down the stairs. This is going to be fun.

ooOO00OOoo

"Hermione, just what gives you the right to barge into my dorm room and bang on the bathroom door like that? You nearly gave me a heart attack!" Ron said accusingly as Hermione gave a casual wave to Harry who waved back, a concerned look on his face when he glanced meaningfully at Ron. A slight shrug was Hermione's only response.

"Professor McGonagall, Ron, that's who. Did you forget that she was the one who sent me to get you for the prefect's meeting? And I didn't 'barge in' to you dorm room either. Your roommates let me in." Hermione replied, making a beeline for the door. This discussion was best held in the halls, not the common room where there were ears to hear.

"Don't you go blaming this on them, Hermione. You're the one that came up here after me." Ron argued, as the fat lady closed behind them.

"Yes, Ron, I am. At Professor McGonagall's orders." Hermione sighed.

"So, what? You're her messenger-girl then?" Ron sneered.

"If she needs me to be, yes. That's what comes with being a student, and a prefect."

"That's just stupid and lame. You're incapable of disobeying orders, aren't you? Can't think outside the box."

Hermione paused in where she'd been marching full steam ahead. "I'm 'incapable of disobeying orders' and I 'can't think outside the box'? Is that the best insult you have? Come on, Ron, as many years as you know me and as much trouble as we've gotten into, that's the best you can come up with? Of course I can disobey orders, I've done it before with you. And you also know that I'm damn good at thinking outside of the box, which is why I'm so good at most of these classes, magic isn't as rule-oriented as we seem to think it is." Hermione huffed.

ooOO00OOoo

Down the hall a little ways and around a corner, two prefects on their patrol stopped and listened to the heated conversation between the two Gryffindors.

"You know," one of them said turning to the other, "she's got a point."

"Hush," said the other, tilting their head to listen better. "I want to hear."

"And if you are going to insult me, Ron, darling, then at least have the brains to insult me with something more than I'm 'stupid and lame'. 'But, O most lamentable man!--of wit/You never had an atom, and of letters/You have three letters only!--they spell Ass!'

The first prefect turned to the second and mouthed the words 'O most lamentable man' to the other, their face a mass of confusion.

The second seemed to understand, but shook their head, indicating that they would explain at a later time.

"What are you about, Hermione? Spouting Muggle rubbish again? Can't you accept the fact that you are a witch now, and move on with your life? Why do you hold on to your Muggle heritage like that? They're all stupid and useless anyway." Ron's voice was filled with contempt and the prefects were surprised to hear such words coming from a supposed Muggle-lover.

"How could you even ask me that, Ron? My mother is a Muggle, my father is a Muggle, my Aunt and my Uncle are all Muggles, dumbass. That is why I can't just 'let my Muggle heritage go', it's my bloody heritage, and I have as much a right to my Muggle heritage as you do to your precious pure-blooded one."

The second prefect leaned over to the first. "She's got a bit of a tongue on her."

The first one grinned. "I know, that's why I like her. I think that's hot."

"You're crazy, if you think there's a chance in hell for the two of you to ever work." The second one shook its head. "Besides, you have a 'precious pure-blood heritage' as well."

The first shrugged. "So? That's never stopped me before."

"Well, maybe it should. Things get nasty fast, when a pureblood has a serious relationship with a mudblood."

"Shut up, Draco." The first said crossly. "Not all pureblood families are like yours. We all know that purebloods are superior, but we also all know that we are a dying breed, and if we are to keep our names alive, we need the infusion of new blood that your 'mudbloods' offer us. There is reason to lose your hatred of them, and even more reason to accept, even seek out, one of them each generation to invigorate our bloodlines."

"The Malfoy's don't need mudbloods to taint our lines." Malfoy said haughtily.

"Stop being a parrot for Malfoy propaganda and listen to what I'm telling you. Purebloods won't survive if we don't mix a little. As-is, damn near every pureblood family is either first, second, or third cousins to every other. If we keep going, we're going to start inbreeding, and that is dangerous."

"Shut up, Zabini. I'm not in the mood for one of your lectures."

"I'm just saying…"

"Well, stop saying it." Malfoy cut in.

Zabini sighed and turned away, listening in again to the tail end of the one-sided argument going on just around the corner.

"…it doesn't matter, you're still a witch." Ron was saying.

"Stop saying that!" Hermione cried, obviously frustrated.

"Well, it's true."

"Well, you know what? It doesn't matter, I'm still a Granger as well. I am a witch and a Granger, and until such time as I am no longer alive, I will still be a Granger, and I will still love my family, and I will not cut myself off from them simply on your say-so! We aren't dating anymore Ron, nor are we even friends! You gave up all right to have any say in my life at all, that night when you said all of those awful things to me, so just shut up and lets go down to the Great Hall before I do something you'll regret."

"Don't you mean something you'll regret?" Ron said snidely

Blaise peeked around the corner in time to see Hermione whirl around and face Weasley, her eyes flashing. "No, Ron, that's not what I meant. I said what I meant the first time. I might do something that you will regret, so shut up and come on." So saying, she spun about smartly on her heel and stalked away, head held high.

Weasley shuffled after her, his face still red and mumbling inconsiderate things under his breath about 'women' and 'idiots'.

ooOO00OOoo

A few minutes later, flushed and flustered, Hermione and Ron entered the Great Hall to find it completely empty, save for a rather impatient Professor McGonagall.

"Well, it's about time for the two of you to show up." She said crossly. "Originally, I was going to pair you up with other people, seeing as how the two of you aren't getting along, but you are already late for your rounds, so I'm afraid the two of you are stuck with each other tonight."

"What?!" Ron cried, incredulous. "You can't pair me with her."

"Can, Mr. Weasley, and have." She pinned him in place with eyes of steel. "Perhaps next time, you won't be tardy, hmm?"

"Yes, Professor." Ron said sullenly.

"Best be off then. You've got a lot of ground to cover, and not much time to do it in. So, scat."

"Yes, ma'am." Hermione said, and the two of them left to, finally, begin their rounds.

ooOO00OOoo

This quote comes from the play/movie Cyrano de Bergerac, by Edmond Rostand and is in reference to the point in the plot where Cyrano (who has a rather over-sized nose) is teaching a Viscount how to properly insult him, because all the viscount can say is "your nose is…hmm…it is…very big."


	12. The Toad Speaks?

Chapter 12: The Toad Speaks?

Tuesday morning dawned bright and early for Hermione Granger, far too bright and early for someone who had spent the better part of the night in a constant state of irritation with their ex-boyfriend, who had spent the better part of _his_ night alternately cursing and pleading with her. Ron insisted that she still loved him. Of all the stupid, moronic things to say. Of _course_ she still loved him, but it was a memory of the person she thought he used to be, not the one he currently was.

Still, for all her taunts about his inability to curse her properly, Hermione was soon regretting her words, and the sharp assessment she'd had the foolishness to reveal to him. After that, Ron had taken to using all the things that he knew about her, against her, in an effort to harm her. Of course, after he would say something particularly cruel, Ron would always get a bit red faced with shame and apologize profusely, begging her to forgive him and take him back, that nothing, and no one, could make her happier.

It was a strange, and taxing, night; one that she would not easily forget, and – if the gods truly existed out there – one that she wouldn't have to repeat. Hermione had gotten back that night with the disgusting knowledge that they hadn't found anybody outside of their dorms, and that rested solely on the shoulders of Ron, because he wouldn't stop his incessant yapping at her.

Not that she was being a stuck up snob who lived and breathed by-the-book. Of course not. No, never.

Yawning, Hermione met a horrendously cheerful Harry in the common room. "What are you grinning for?" she asked crossly, slumping down onto the cushion next to him.

"Oh, nothing in particular, just the fact that you've managed a few converts." He said, grinning widely.

"Converts? Harry, I'm not a religion." She said, purposefully misunderstanding him.

"I'm not so sure, not according to the gospel of Neville, Seamus, and Dean." Harry said, laughter coloring his tone.

"What in the world do you mean?" Hermione said, morosely separating a small portion of her bushy hair and bringing it in front of here eyes, staring wearily at it. She'd lost the battle with it this morning to make it sit in pretty little ringlets.

"I mean," Harry said smugly, unaware of Hermione's distracted state, "that as of right now, Neville, Seamus, and Dean like you a hell of a lot more than they like Ron, and would much prefer to spend their time with you than him."

"Say what?" Hermione asked, turning her full attention to him.

"You heard me." Harry said, pride in his voice. "The guys like you better than Ron. Quite an achievement, I thought."

"Indeed." Hermione said thoughtfully. "I presume, that this happened when we had that impromptu pillow fight?"

"Probably." Harry grinned.

"That's the best news I've heard all day."

"The day just started." Harry laughed.

"So?" Hermione said negligently, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a practiced flick of her head.

Harry just laughed, which, in turn, inspired Hermione to laugh as well. True, unselfconscious laughs from Harry were rare to the extreme, more so now than they had ever been, and the sound of his unfettered laughing was infectious.

Hermione sobered, remembering the reason that Harry never laughed anymore.

"How are you, Harry?" She asked seriously.

"Me? I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" He asked flippantly.

"Well, life's not been easy for you lately." She observed.

"Like it has for anyone else? The Diggory's lost a son." Harry didn't even pretend not to know what she was talking about.

"True, but they don't carry around this unreasonable burden that they killed him." Hermione said, too softly.

"I-" Harry started. "What makes you say that?" He was completely on the defensive now, and prickly as a porcupine.

"Oh, Harry." Hermione said with compassion, desperately wishing to help her friend and knowing that she never could. "You don't sleep well at all, you haven't since before you came to Headquarters. And, I've seen you, sometimes, sitting in the corner, morosely, by yourself, this black look on your face. It's as if the whole burden of the world rests on your shoulders. Isn't there anything I can do to help? You know I would."

Harry's shoulders relaxed a minute portion; she hadn't seen him running last night. Though he'd been glad to be home, Harry had not expected the nightmares that occurred with frightening intensity over the past two nights, and he'd taken to running again, this time through the hallways and down the stairs, something he hadn't expected would exhaust him after running so much at the Dursleys. But there was something about the up and down steps of the staircases that was so much more difficult to traverse than the – admittedly – uneven ground of the park had been at Privet Drive.

Last night, they'd been worse than ever before, with both Cedric, and the Headmaster ganging up on him, each of them demanding that Harry stand up and take responsibility for his actions, that he save them, and kill the Dark Lord, before more precious lives were lost. He'd woken up in a cold sweat about an hour after Hermione had finally managed to drag Ron out to the prefect's meeting, and long before the two of them would return, very cross with each other. He'd looked around the room, and for one frightening moment, had been unable to place his surroundings. He'd begun to wonder if it was a trick of Voldemort's, before he made out the familiar curtains on his bed, and the comforting snores of his roommates. After that, he'd known that sleep was no longer an option, and he'd slipped silently out of bed, Serin hissing his disdain sleepily from atop his head.

Silencing him with a quiet hiss, Harry had donned his running clothes and tread with quiet steps down the stairs and out the common room, closing the portrait behind him silently so that the Fat Lady only mumbled in her sleep. After that, the most difficult thing had been avoiding the patrols of the new, and old, prefects, all of whom were wound up and excited, to catch wayward students out of their bed. But with his trusty map of Hogwarts by his side (courtesy of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs) he'd easily managed to avoid the searching prefects, as well as the lurking students they were looking for.

He'd run until he'd been exhausted, which hadn't taken that long, not really, and then had returned the way he'd come, slipping back into bed for a few of the most restful hours he'd gotten since the end of the last school term. Exhaustion could do that to you. It was the noise of the rest of the room's occupants that woke him those precious hours later, apparently Ron had gotten back late from patrol, and hadn't appreciated Seamus's alarm. This, in turn, had spurred an argument that kept increasing in volume until the two of them were standing toe-to-toe and screaming at the top of their lungs. Thankfully, Neville had the presence of mind to cast a _silencio_ on the two of them, and the descending quiet had been jarring.

The end, had Ron descending the stairs with heavy footsteps – the spell had yet to be removed – and with the other three occupants in the room left muttering about how Ron had turned into an awful prick this year, and maybe Hermione had been right to cut things off with him as she had. She certainly seemed to have changed for the better while Ron had only gotten worse. Harry had been hard pressed to keep his grin to himself. He'd won over a few allies, without even trying. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, living with Ron this year, if Dean, Seamus, and Neville were on his side.

"Harry?" Hermione said, snapping him back to the present.

"Hmm? I'm sorry, what did you say?" Harry blinked.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders and heaved a great sigh. Sometimes, talking to Harry was like trying to hold water in your hands.

"Never mind, you look fine anyway. Lets go down to breakfast."

"Sure."

ooOO00OOoo

Fred and George had apparently taken up the mantle of 'torturing Ron' that Neville had started when he'd silenced Ron in the dorm room. When Hermione and Harry arrived in the Great Hall, they came and sat down, at first not recognizing that anything was different with Ron, he was being his usual, surly self since their, ahem, disagreement. But when Hermione gave Harry a sharp poke in his ribs with her elbow and tilted her chin in Ron's direction, Harry took a closer look and decided that something was distinctly 'off' about Ron this morning. What was it?

It was subtle, and difficult to recognize, but something was just a little…. Harry cocked his head to the side as he studied his once-friend. Did Ron have cat eyes? Circular irises, with a slit pupil, they looked just like those you'd find on a cat or, perhaps, on a snake. Come to think of it, either Ron's face was peeling, or he had tiny, delicate scales along his hairline, trailing down past his ears and along the underside of his jaw, as well as fragile ones along the back of each of his fingers, joining up to form larger, thicker ones on the backs of his hands.

"Uh, Ron?" Harry asked, unable to remain silent. "Are you okay?"

All Harry got in response was an evil glare from Ron, and a few sharp jabs with Ron's fork in to his already-in-pieces food.

Unwilling to risk a blow up this early in the morning, Harry turned to some of his table mates for an answer, his eyebrows raised in inquisition. George snickered from farther down the table.

"Uh, George?" Harry asked warily, unsure if he really wanted to know what they'd done.

"Yeah, Harry, it was us." Gorge said completely unrepentant.

"He came storming in here, acting a right git, even after we'd been nice enough to remove the silencing charm on him." Fred chimed in.

"He was saying all kinds of mean things about you, Harry, and you too, Hermione." George continued.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised." Hermione commented wryly, before turning towards the table and applying herself to her breakfast with a single-minded intensity usually reserved for her most favorite books.

Fred winked at her, then continued, "So we put the charm back, and added a few of our own."

Harry looked down the table at where the fuming Ron was eating silently. "Just a few?" He queried.

Fred and Gorge both only beamed at him silently, they never gave away their secrets.

Harry chuckled, "All right, why a snake?"

"Well, he was acting like one, saying such things about you." George replied.

"So we figured, if he wanted to be a lying, backstabbing Slytherin, then he could look like one." Fred continued.

"Plus," George said, leaning closer, "he doesn't know about Serin, and making him look like him is rather like flicking him off without his knowledge." He had a wicked smile on his face.

"Well, that's nice of you." Harry frowned, "I think."

George laughed and gave Harry a bracing slap on the back. "Don't you worry, Harry."

"It'll wear off in an hour or two."

"Or six."

"Twelve?" Fred asked.

"Maybe it was twenty-four." George answered.

At the same time, and with identical gestures, they both lifted their hands, palms up, and shrugged their shoulders, their faces apathetic, as if to say, 'who knows, who cares?' before the both of them dissolved into helpless fits of laughter.

After a while, Hermione leaned over to the giggling youths and the still-grinning Harry.

"I don't think you've made any friends today, if looks could kill, I think you three would be dead and smoldering." Hermione glanced meaningfully down the table towards a certain red head who was glaring menacingly at the three of them.

"Uh-oh," George said in a kissy-mouth baby voice, "is little Ronnikins mad about something?" He leaned in Ron's general direction and put a hand to his ear. "What? I'm sorry, I didn't catch that, would you repeat it, please? What's this?" He said, leaning backwards and bringing a hand to his chest in mock surprise "You can't speak? Why not? Does the cat have your tongue? No? A lion maybe? No?"

Fred whipped out his wand and pointed it at Ron. "How about…a snake?" Ron's tongue suddenly shot out of his mouth to waver in front of his face, to reveal that it had been turned black and slender, with a fork at the tip, exactly like the one that Serin sported, cleverly hidden in Harry's hair even now.

"Oh, Merlin!" One of the younger students exclaimed, glancing over to see Ron's errant tongue. "He's got a forked tongue!"

Ron's face turned red and you could visibly see him straining to bring his tongue back into his mouth. Soon, most, if not all, Gryffindors were laughing at Ron. His struggling was attracting more and more attention as his movements became increasingly frantic and wild.

"Misters Fred and George Weasley, what have you done this time?" a crisp voice from behind them silenced them all. "Well?" Professor McGonagall continued when no one spoke up. "I suppose I shall have to find out on my own. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for insubordination. When I ask a question I want it answered." She turned to Ron, who'd finally been allowed to suck his tongue back into his mouth and who was now glaring laser beams at his brothers.

"Mister Ronald Weasley, go to the infirmary and see Madam Pomfrey, she'll be able to fix you right up. And you two," she said to the twins who'd unwisely begun to snicker again. "Come with me."

They sobered up quickly after that, scrambling out of their seats to follow the Professor down the isle of tables and out of the Great Hall.

Silence reigned for a moment, before the giggling began again. Hermione, however, was not amused.

"She's right, you know." Hermione said dourly. "We shouldn't laugh at a fellow Gryffindor."

"Wait, what?" Harry asked. "She didn't say that at all. She didn't even look at us!"

"Harry, sometimes people speak with their mouths, and sometimes they speak without them." Hermione explained, as if to a little child. "With her mouth, she chastised them for insubordination, but without it, she disapproved of the rest of us laughing at Ron, as well as not telling her what the twins had done."

"Well, that was a bit barmy of her." Seamus commented with a crooked smile. "I'd have said it was obvious that they made him look like a snake."

Hermione shook her head. "That's not what I meant. _That_ part was obvious. What she wanted to know was _how_ they'd done it, what spells they'd cast and how to undo them. It'd save Madam Pomfrey some grief if they'd told her."

"Not like they ever tell." Harry commented dryly.

"No, but it never hurts to ask." Ginny said.

"True."

Just then, the clock in the Great Hall chimed the hour, alerting the last straggling students to the fact that the first classes of the day were starting soon, and they'd best move quickly if they were to make it on time. As they all stood and began to disperse to their separate classes, Harry came to stand by Hermione as she gathered up the last of her books.

"I wonder what the new Defense teacher will be like?" Harry wondered idly.

"I don't know, but we'll soon find out." Hermione responded, as she slung her satchel over her shoulder.

ooOO00OOoo

Walking into the classroom, Harry couldn't help being slightly excited about this year's prospect for the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Perhaps, this year, the teacher would out-do his expectations for her and would actually _teach_ him something.

Hermione leaned over Harry's shoulder as they were walking and murmured into his ear, "Try to keep a civil tongue, would you Harry?"

"I'm sorry?" Harry asked, shaken from his musings.

"Just….don't get angry." Hermione said again, struggling to understand how she knew these things, and what, exactly, she thought she'd be able to do about it anyway. Nobody ever listened to her when she tried to change the things she knew.

"Of course not. Why would I?" Harry scoffed.

Unable to explain, Hermione simply shrugged and took a seat next to Harry towards the front of the classroom to wait for their teacher. They didn't have to wait long, and before the last student had settled into their seats, Professor Umbridge was walking into the classroom.

"_Ah, the toad returnss." _Serin suddenly hissed to Harry.

Harry very nearly jumped out of his skin with fright. Glancing hurriedly about the classroom for snooping ears, Harry bent down in his chair and fiddled with his book bag.

"Sserin! You sscared me! I thought you were assleep." Harry hissed, from his position under the table. 

"_I wass."_ Serin acknowledged, giving a wide yawn. _"But the toad returned and woke me up."_

"_What?"_ Harry said, confused. _"How did sshe wake you up? Sshe hassen't ssaid anything yet." _

"_Maybe not, but sshe ssmellss."_

If Serin had been human, Harry was quite certain that he would have his nose wrinkled in a gesture of disgust. As Dolores Umbridge waltzed by Harry chair, he got a whiff of the perfume fog she was surrounded in and was forced to agree. She _did_ smell.

"Alright, class." Professor Umbridge said in a sticky, sweet voice. "Welcome to your fifth year of Defense Against the Dark Arts. My name is Professor Umbridge, and I have taken upon myself the monumental task of correcting your thus-far pathetic schooling in this subject. Put away your wands please."

There was a long moment in which no one moved. Put away their wands?

"Uh, Professor?" One hesitant voice asked from the back of the class. "Put away our wands? Won't we need them?"

"You most certainly will not!" She said, outraged. "This will not be a class in which my students will learn any more foolishness. Now, away with your wands, and take out your books."

Still, the students hesitated. Surely, she was joking?

"Well? What are you all waiting for?" She asked, her voice remaining sweet, even as there was a hard glint in her eye. "Wands, away! Books, out!"

Silently groaning, the class did as instructed, the sounds of paper rattling momentarily filling the sound of the room. The only person to remain unmoving was Hermione Granger who had, inexplicably, left her wand in her pocket and her book on her desk.

"Good," Professor Umbridge stated, sickly happy again. "Now, please, open your books to page one and begin reading chapter one, 'The Absence of Evidence'."

With a minimal amount of fuss, the class did as instructed and began to read from the beginning.

"Excellent. When you are all finished, we'll discuss what you've read." So saying, the Professor turned and walked to her desk; as she sat down, she saw the hand of Hermione Granger raised in the air, seeking permission to speak.

"Yes, dear?" she asked, sounding overly concerned.

"I have a question, ma'am." Hermione said, her voice a carefully controlled study in politeness.

"Yes?"

"Why does this chapter not say anything about the humans who have been harmed by the Dark Arts?" She folded her hands primly in front of her, her back ramrod straight.

The professor only gave a condescending smile. "I said we'd discuss the chapter after you've read the whole thing."

"I have."

"Really?" The Professor sounded unconvinced, "then read the next one."

"I have." Hermione said, and then continued. "I've read the whole thing. Twice, in fact."

"Is that so?" Umbridge said, clearly dubious. "Then what does chapter thirteen say about the werewolves?"

If at all possible, Hermione sat up straighter, aware of the fact that she had the whole class's eyes on her. "Chapter Thirteen, entitled, 'The Beast Within and Without' talks all about the evils of werewolves and how, even during the middle of the month, they are bloodthirsty animals who are incapable of controlling their actions. Creatures who must be shot and tagged for 'their good, and for the good of us all' in order to keep _them_ away from _us_."

"Chapter twenty two?" the toad asked, unconcerned.

"Chapter twenty two," Hermione said, getting into full 'lecture mode', "details the origins of the Dementors, or the lack of them, and spends a pathetically short amount of time telling us about the Patronus charm and how it is the one, and only, known way of removing them from your presence."

"_Pathetically_ short?" Professor Umbridge asked, a steely glint in her eye. "This book is the one, and only, book out there that has a detailed and accurate representation of what is, and what is not, actually a threat to the people of our world, today." Rising to her feet and walking around her desk, the toad ignored Hermione, who'd been about to say something else, and continued with her monologue:

"These days, our children – you – are fed a multitude of lies about what is, and is not, happening in the world. They tell you that werewolves are kind when not under the full moon; I tell you they are savages even in human form. They tell you that centaurs are noble creatures whom desire only to read the heavens; I tell you that they are monstrous freaks, half-man and half-horse, with all the problems of both, and none of the nobility of either. They tell you that giants, and half giants, are gentle creatures; well, they are wrong! Giants spend their days ripping up trees and beating each other to a pulp, not singing and dancing in a glade of flowers. But most importantly, they tell you that You-Know-Who has come back to life; I am here to tell you, _that is a lie._" She began to walk around the classroom, up and down the aisles as she talked, pointedly ignoring Harry Potter and his steadily reddening face, not to mention, his hand up in the air. "He has not come back, nor will he _ever_ come back. You-Know-Who is gone forever, you have nothing to fear." She glanced around the room at the disbelieving faces surrounding her. "You don't believe me? Of _course_, you don't. Headmaster Dumbledore has done his absolute best to contribute to the spreading of the hysteria that says You-Know-Who has returned. You mustn't believe his lies; he is only trying to scare you. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is _dead_ and has been for…" she finally cut a glance in Harry's direction before turning her back on him, and his raised hand, pointedly, "fourteen years now."

"That's not true!" Harry burst out, standing to his feet. "Voldemort is alive, and we've got every _reason_ to be afraid!"

Umbridge whirled on her heels to face Harry, half a classroom away. "That, young man, is a _lie_, and I'll have you take it back. You've already spoken out of turn, don't make me give you detention for your lies."

"It's _not _a lie, I saw Voldemort come back with my own two eyes. I know the ritual they used to give him his body back! He's alive, I tell you!" Harry's body shook with rage. Who was this woman, to say such evil things about the people he loved? Werewolves weren't savages, they were people who were unfortunate enough to have been assaulted by a werewolf, forced to endure a painful transformation every month where they lost their bodies, and their mind, to the control of a monster from inside their own psyche. Centaurs _were_ noble creatures, for all that some of them thought themselves better than humans. They were simply touchy if you asked to ride on their backs, but who wouldn't be? They were sentient creatures, not pack animals! And, as far as giants were concerned, Harry didn't know, but Hagrid was a half-giant and he was the kindest, gentlest person Harry had ever met, bar none. Dumbledore had done his best for him these past five years, and… "Voldemort is alive!"

Every time he'd said the name Voldemort, Harry saw every person in the room cringe. "That is _enough_, Mister Potter!" Professor Umbridge stalked up towards him, trying to look intimidating in her fluffy, pink cardigan.

"_Keep her away from uss."_ Serin hissed menacingly. _"If sshe touchess you, I will bite her."_

"_Why?"_ Harry asked, focused on Serin, and completely ignoring the image he made to the rest of the class. There he was, Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, blazingly furious with a professor, standing to his feet, hands clenched at his sides, muscles tense and straining; _hissing_. Now, as before, when he'd been in his Uncle's house, Harry voice was neither loud, nor overwrought, instead descending to the level of a mere whisper, while still retaining that thunderous quality that caused it to carry throughout the room with an ominous resonance.

"_Becausse,"_ Serin continued, unconcerned about, or unaware of, the image his Wizard struck. _"Sshe meanss to hurt you, and I will not allow that."_

"_That doessn't matter."_ Harry dismissed, watching the toad's progress towards him slow. _"Sshe cannot hurt me."_

"_Sshe won't have a chance to."_

Though slightly intimidated by the raven-haired youth in front of her, Umbridge continued foreword until she stood three meters in front of him, at which point she stopped, unable to bring herself to get any closer to the incensed boy.

"You will stop that devil talk _this_ _instant_!" She screeched at him from a safe distance.

"_Devil talk_?" Harry straightened his back and looked down his nose at her. "That is not devil talk, ma'am, that is a rare magical ability known as parseltongue; the ability to speak to and understand snakes."

She flushed angrily, "That just earned you a detention, young man. Keep talking and I'll up it to two. You-Know-Who is not alive, and I'll not have you saying such things to frighten the other students."

Hermione, feeling like she was risking life and limb, reached up and grasped Harry by the sleeve, seeking to drag him back down into his chair, but he just shook her hand off. "Stop ignoring facts and I will be silent. Voldemort _is_ alive."

"He is not!" The Professor shrieked at him, even as she took a step away from him and his frighteningly calm voice.

"Oh? Really?" Harry sneered, sounding like the epitome of scorn. "Then what happened to Cedric Diggory the last night of the Tri-Wizard tournament? He dropped dead of his own accord?"

There was a slight gasp that ran around the room when they heard Harry mention Cedric's name; nobody had heard him speak the other champion's name since his unfortunate demise at the end of last year. It hadn't matter how convincing anyone was, nobody had managed to get the story out of him as to what exactly had transpired somewhere between the time he and the still-living Cedric had been whisked away by portkey, and the time he had returned, with the now-dead sixth year, and blood all over himself.

The toad, unaware of these facts, made a simpering, sweet face, and her voice obtained the consistency of molasses. "Cedric, dear boy that he was, suffered an unfortunate end, and we are as of yet unable to determine what happened to him, or how he died…"

"He died at the hands of Peter Pettigrew when he cast the killing curse at Cedric at Voldemort's orders. His exact words were, 'Kill the spare.'" Harry interrupted, his anger making him say things he ordinarily would have kept hidden.

"That, young man, has just earned you a second, and third night of detention. Keep talking, and I'll make it a week." Professor Umbridge smiled through gritted teeth.

"I'm not frightened of _you_." Harry announced loftily. "I've stood against Voldemort three times now, just as my parents before me. Your detentions couldn't possibly be worse."

"Harry!" Hermione hissed at him desperately. "Just shut up, will you? You're making things very, very bad for yourself and others, so just shut up before things can't be fixed!"

Glancing down at her for the first time, Harry noticed the look of utter desperation on Hermione's face, and he realized that she'd been antagonizing the Professor earlier, so that the Toad would focus her anger on Hermione, and not on Harry. Perhaps this was one of those things Hermione just had a feeling about sometimes and, despite himself and his anger, Harry nodded his head subtly at her, acknowledging her request, and his intention to do as she asked.

While the little byplay had been going on between Harry and Hermione, the Toad had stalked her way up to her desk and scribbled something on a piece of paper. Her good sense to be afraid overcame her anger, and she strutted up to Harry, thrusting the parchment into his hand. "Get out of my class and take this to your Head of House. There will be severe repercussions if I find out that you did not," she demanded stiffly.

Grabbing the paper, Harry nodded his head jerkily and snatched his bag up off the floor, striding out the door, anger evident in his every movement.

As the door closed behind him, Hermione couldn't help but relax a bit in her chair, a sigh of relief escaping. For once, she'd managed to do something good about things. For once, she'd managed to change the outcome of what she'd _known_ would happen. While Harry hadn't managed to completely _avoid_ having detention, Hermione was glad that he'd kept it to three days instead of the week and a half she'd known he'd get. Something terrible would have happened if the future would have carried on, she just knew it. Something that would have caused him irreparable damage and made it much more difficult for him to do what was needed.

As the Toad walked back to the front of the room, and demanded that the students get back to reading, Hermione frowned, lost in thought. What was it that would have gone wrong, exactly? Was it something that Umbridge would have done, or something that he would do in the detentions? Or perhaps, something that would happen to him on the way back from a detention? She really didn't know, and it was driving her crazy. Of all the things in the world that she had encountered and experienced, not knowing something was the one thing that Hermione Granger truly hated, and she vowed she would find out the truth, to save Harry the agony of it.

ooOO00OOoo

Still furious, Harry stalked through the halls, unconcerned about the whispers of the portraits as he passed, or the first and second years who skittered out of the way as he charged like a one man army up the stairs towards Professor McGonagall's office. Rapping smartly on the door, Harry waited impatiently for permission to enter.

"Come in." she called from beyond the door.

Harry grasped the handle and stepped inside, being careful not to slam the door behind him in his rage, even though he still closed it with an emphatic 'click'. Professor McGonagall looked up at him from where she'd been writing something on a piece of parchment.

"Yes? Mr. Potter, what are you doing here? Don't you have Defense right now?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do." Harry said crisply, handing over the piece of paper. "Professor Umbridge wanted me to give you this."

Taking it wordlessly, the Head of Gryffindor House read the slip through, her countenance darkening, and lips forming a thin line as she neared the end. "Mr. Potter, is this true?" she said finally, looking up at him severely.

"I'm not entirely sure what it says, but it's probably mostly right Professor." Harry responded, still unrepentant.

"Harry," Professor McGonagall said, taking off her glasses and setting them down on the desk in front of her, "it says here, that you were willfully disobedient and rowdy in Professor Umbridge's class, that you called her a liar, and that you _continued_ to act in this manner even _after_ she'd given you a detention." She stared at him, waiting for him to either confirm or deny the accusations.

Tilting his head to the side, Harry considered everything that Professor McGonagall had said. "Yes, that's just about right, I'd say." He answered after a moment. "I did all of those things." Professor McGonagall's eyebrows flew upward, even as Harry continued talking. "But what she didn't tell you was that she said that werewolves were savages, half-giants were animals, and that centaurs were cruel, not to mention she claimed that Voldemort was dead, and Headmaster Dumbledore is a liar. Besides, she had no explanation as to what happened to Cedric…that night." Harry choked on his last words, unable to relive the nightmare so soon after he'd spoken of it in the classroom.

McGonagall's severe expression softened only slightly as she listened to Harry speak. "Harry, that is no excuse for _what_ you said, or for _how_ you said it," she shook her head. "If you felt so strongly about this, you should have waited to speak to her, or better yet me, about it after class, _not_ stood up and challenged her authority on her very _first_ day as a teacher." She shook her head once again. "Harry, I'm afraid that I am going to have to uphold her detentions for you tomorrow night at eight. Try to keep your temper in future classes, won't you?" She asked, a demand phrased as a question.

Harry nodded stiffly. He hadn't expected her to overturn the Toad's detention; he hadn't expected her to do anything. He'd already decided that anything good that was going to happen to him over the course of his life was going to happen to him because he'd _made_ it happen. Turning towards the door Harry departed his Head of House's office and headed out towards the owlery. Since it was a double period of Defense that he was missing, he had about an hour and a half to kill before his next class. He might as well go spend some time with Hedwig, what else was there to do?

ooOO00OOoo

Hedwig was wonderfully excited to see him, despite the fact that he'd woken her up. Days started early at Hogwarts, and since Defense had been his first period of the day, it was not quite 9 o'clock in the morning; time for all good postal owls to be asleep after a long night of delivering mail.

"Hey, Hedwig, have you missed me, girl?" Harry asked as she hooted excitedly and flew over to land on his proffered arm.

She hooted again, softly, and reached out to nibble gently on his earlobe.

"Yeah, I've missed you too." Harry said softly, bringing her closer and scratching her head, working his fingers between the dense feathers on her head and sending her straight into a state of deep bliss. They sat there for a moment, content in their companionship. Harry always missed these moments when he went back to school, it was the only true advantage Privet Drive had over Hogwarts: the time available to spend with Hedwig.

"Oh, hey, girl. I got something to tell you." Harry said eventually, once his fingertips were beginning to go numb from the constant scratching. Reluctantly, Hedwig pulled back so that she could look him in the eyes. Ruffling her feathers a bit to settle them all back into place, she settled down with a serious look in her eyes and clacked her beak at him once, sharply. _All right, My Wizard, talk. I'm listening_. She seemed to say to him.

"Okay, well," Harry paused and looked upward, "Serin, are you listening too?"

"Of coursse, Wizard-Mine, though I'm ssure I've heard thiss before, I'll gladly hear it again." Serin said. 

"All right. Well." Harry glanced about and found a stone seat inset along the wall of the owlery and settled himself in it, as comfortably as possible. "Defense against the Dark Arts was the first class today, and also the first time that the new professor would be teaching my class Defense. I was almost hoping that she'd prove to be a good teacher this year, we've had so few."

Hedwig hooted her agreement, even _she_ had noticed that their schooling in Defense had been distinctly lacking. Or, at least, substandard

"So, we're walking in the door, and Hermione tells me not to say anything, to keep my mouth shut and to not get angry. Now, you know, and I know, that she knows things sometimes, that defy explanation. She's just really smart, I suppose, and capable of putting things together that the rest of us can't, but…" he shrugged, "whatever. So, she tells me to stay calm and I tried, really I did, but that…that…" Harry struggled for a suitably scathing word.

"_Toad."_ Serin suggested gleefully. _"Sshe lookss and ssmellss like a Toad."_

"Right, Toad." Harry said, accepting the title, "said all kinds of evil things about werewolves and half-giants and centaurs and…and…Dumbledore…and she said that Voldemort wasn't alive!" Harry cried.

Hedwig hooted disbelievingly.

"I know, stupid, huh? I mean, what does she think happened to Cedric last year? And what about the fake Moody? There are so many holes in her argument, it wouldn't hold water, but that doesn't matter. She's the teacher, she's from the Ministry, and so, she's automatically right." Harry shook his head. "This year is not going to be much fun for me when it comes to Defense, I can tell." Harry said with a deep, abiding sense of irony, as if his other years had been much better.

"But that's not what I came up here for, not really. I really wanted to give this to you." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the good luck charm that Ginny had given him a week ago before his hearing. "Ginny gave this to me earlier, and I want you to have it now. She said it was a good luck charm; I had it with me during the Hearing and that turned out well, so I'd like you to have it. You go out at night, flying for hours at a time, and there are all kinds of power lines and things that you could run into, I'd like for you to be safe."

Hedwig hooted softly, apparently touched at his thoughtfulness. Gently, she leaned forward and nibbled on the tips of his fingers before taking the delicate shell in her beak.

"So you'll take it with you?" Harry asked happily.

Encumbered with the seashell in her beak, Hedwig could only mimic the human gesture of assent and nod her feathery head up and down awkwardly.

"Good!" Harry said with a grin on his face. "Here." Harry took the shell back and produced a thin, but sturdy, leather thong from his breast pocket. With a whispered word, and a subtle gesture from his wand, Harry burrowed a small hole through the outside edge of the shells delicate spiral and deftly threaded the leather through it, creating a sort of necklace. "There you go." Harry said, gently tying the shell around her neck so that it hung just short of her breastbone. "Think it'll be out of your way when you fly?"

Hedwig turned aside and took off from Harry's lap, making an experimental circuit of the owlery before coming back to Harry and landing on the bench beside him. Dancing a bit on her talons, Hedwig gave a hoot of approval.

"Well, I'm glad you like it." The distant chiming of the Great Hall's clock suddenly resounded around the small interior of the owlery. "I guess that's my cue to leave. Take care of that shell, would you? It's rather precious."

Hedwig gave him a look of pure incredulousness. She clacked her beak sharply at him, her stare intense. _What do you think I'm going to do, drop it?_

Harry chuckled, "of course not, I'm sorry for asking." Reaching out, Harry gave Hedwig one final scratch on her head before standing to his feet. "All right, time for me to be off. Take care, Hedwig, I'll see you soon."

ooOO00OOoo

The good mood that Hedwig had put Harry in quickly disappeared in the face of the barrage of questions the student population piled on top of him, and he was grumpy and grouchy the rest of the day. Having spoken once, briefly, of that horrible night with Cedric, the rest of the school seemed to have taken that as an open invitation to ask him about anything and everything that had been burning in their minds since that fateful night. Having gotten the general details from his words in Defense, which, of course, had spread frightfully fast throughout the school, the questions were of a painfully observant manner. From the Hufflepuffs, it was: 'What were Cedric's last words?'; 'Did he die well?'; 'How do you feel about it?'; and 'Do you have nightmares?' The Gryffindors wanted to know: 'What does You-Know-Who look like?'; 'Who was there?'; 'What was the duel like?'; and 'Were you scared?' Ravenclaws were unremarkably interested in the logistics of it: 'What spells were cast?'; 'What words were said during the ritual?'; 'How long did the ritual take?'; and 'What, exactly, did He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named say?' The Slytherins, sly as ever, spoke not a word, but floated along the fringes of the rest of the Houses as they peppered Harry with questions, listening intently, hoping to catch him saying anything that would reveal even the smallest thing about that night. Too bad Harry wasn't in a forthcoming mood.

He snarled his way down one of the more deserted hallways, having managed to momentarily evade his questioning pursuers. It didn't really make him happy though, he knew that they'd find him eventually, and the questions would begin again. Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

"What's wrong, Potter?" A snide voice asked from the shadows to the right. "Not happy with the adoration of your fans?"

"Of course, not." Harry snorted. "Why would I be?"

"Because they're all just …_dying_… to talk to you." Draco Malfoy stepped out of the shadows, a sneer plastered on his face.

"You know what, Malfoy?" Harry asked, anger darkening is words. "Fuck you!" He shook his head angrily. "Do you get some kind of perverse pleasure from pulling the wings off flies? Do you pour salt on slugs, and kick puppies down the street? Because you're acting just as stupid and barbaric as the _Muggles_ that do that."

Malfoy's face went white with anger. "I am _nothing_ like those stupid Muggles."

"No?" Harry asked, clearly unconvinced. "Then stop acting like them. Don't make fun of the fact that Cedric is dead."

"I never—" Malfoy started, but Harry cut him off.

"I don't really care. Cedric is dead, Malfoy. _Dead_. Only sadistic bastards, and Death Eaters get their jollies out of cracking jokes at the expense of dead people and torturing others _about_ dead people. What does that say about you?" From the topside of his right ear, Harry could hear Serin hissing in his ear, though the words were too garbled to catch. All of his attention was on the now furious pureblood in front of him.

A moment or two passed in which there was silence, Malfoy, for once, looked at a loss for words. They were standing not far from a junction in the hallways, the one they were in was one not often traveled, but it met up, a dozen meters away, with one of the busiest pathways in Hogwarts. It was too bad the two were separated by a deceptively thick tapestry that blocked most sounds. When Malfoy had yet to say anything, and the already faint sounds from beyond the tapestry were getting fainter, Harry knew that now was a good time to leave, before Malfoy got his voice back and said something that would really piss Harry off and start a fight.

As he turned to leave, Harry finally caught what Serin was saying. _"…not nice at all."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"You condemn him for taunting you about dead people, and then you taunt him about a dead person; hiss father." 

Harry paused in his tracks as he contemplated what Serin had said. _"You know, you're right. But I wassn't doing it out of sspite. I had honestly forgotten that hiss father wass dead, there iss no way he'd forgotten about Cedric. He made that clear when he emphasized 'dead'."_

Just as Harry started to walk again, he heard a muffled curse come at him from behind, striking him square in the back. Instantly, his legs softened, refusing to bear his weight, and he collapsed into an ungainly heap on the floor. From behind him, Harry heard retreating footsteps. Odd that Malfoy hadn't taken the opportunity to come up and hex him silly, or even make some snide comment about how he should never turn his back on a Malfoy.

Pushing himself up with his arms Harry discovered that his wand, which had been safely tucked away in his pocket, was now, somehow, across the hall from him and beyond easy reach. _Great, just great. Malfoy hexes me with the jelly-legs, and my wand pops out of my pocket and goes rolling away. Just what I wanted._

From above, Harry could hear Serin snickering at him.

"_Just what iss sso funny?"_ Harry asked peevishly.

"_He got you."_ Serin announced.

"_Yeah, I noticed."_ Harry replied tartly. _"Thankss for the warning."_

"_You're welcome."_

"_I wass being ssarcastic."_

"_I know, but I wassn't."_

Harry rolled his eyes. _"Couldn't you have warned me about that ssoft-legss hex?"_

"_I could have, but why bother? It wassn't a threat."_

"_Not a threat! Sserin, I can't walk!"_ Harry hissed, outraged, from his position on the floor where he was crawling, rather ungracefully, towards his wand.

"_Sso? Neither can I."_ Serin replied, unconcerned.

"_Yess, but I'm _ssuppossed _to walk, I have legss."_

"_How unfortunate for you."_

"_Sserin_…" Harry said, exasperated.

"_What? He wassn't going to hurt you," _Serin was unconcerned.

"_A ssoft-legss hex doessn't count ass being hurt?"_ Harry said, disbelievingly, he'd just reached his wand.

"_No."_

Harry picked his wand up and performed the counter-curse, relieved at finally being able to stand. _"Ssnakess are sstrange."_

ooOO00OOoo

Well, would you look at that? A new chapter! Will wonders never cease? When you drive 45 min. one way to your job, spend 40 hours a week there, and then drive another 45 min. back, you don't have much time to do anything else. I'm just glad I got this chapter out at all. For those of you who are wondering, yes, Harry and Draco are about to be soul bound, it's two chapters away, have patience with me. For all of you who have stuck around this long and plan on staying for the end, I truly appreciate you. And oh, by the way, 100 reviews? You guys are _freaking_ awesome. Tootles!


	13. The Time of the Binding

Chapter 13: The Time of the Binding

Tuesday night found Draco Malfoy standing outside a door, irritated. It was a very particular door, behind which was one, Blaise Zabini. Who, if Malfoy remembered correctly, was _supposed_ to be with Draco on their way to the pre-rounds meeting in the Great Hall. But he wasn't there. Where was he? Behind a door. This door.

"Blaise!" Draco yelled, "Where the hell are you?! Hurry up already. It usually takes me longer to get ready than you, so what is taking so _long_?" Malfoy lifted one fisted hand and banged it on the door in front of him. "Get your ass moving!"

"All right, all right!" Came the muffled response. "Don't get your panties in a twist."

Malfoy scowled menacingly at the door, wishing to bore holes in it with his eyes. "I'll twist something of yours off," he said softly.

"Now, Draco," Blaise said, as he opened the door. "That's not very nice. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you didn't like me."

"I don't," Malfoy said, turning on his heel and beginning to walk away.

"Of course, you do," Zabini said, coming up behind Malfoy and throwing an arm around his shoulder. "You love me."

When Malfoy stopped walking and turned his head slowly in the direction of Blaise's hand, Zabini quickly snatched it back, uncertain if that predatory gleam he'd seen in Draco's eyes was directed at his hand or not.

"You love me," Blaise said again, this time unsure.

"Do I?" Malfoy said, blankly, before beginning to walk again, leaving Zabini standing alone, cradling an, as yet, undamaged hand.

"Sometimes, that dude is downright scary," Blaise mumbled before hurrying to catch up.

ooOO00OOoo

"…having said that, I would now like to point out that you are _prefects_ this year, and you must act accordingly. I have received reports that two Prefects spent the majority of their rounds last night fighting with each other instead of looking for people out after curfew. If you are too immature, or incapable of handling this responsibility, you must know that it can, and will, be revoked," Professor McGonagall looked around the assembled students severely. "Do not make this a trial on us all. Do your job, and do it right. That is all."

As the group dispersed, Blaise turned to Draco, a smirk on his face. "Gee, I wonder who it was that spent the whole night fighting?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Draco said blandly, turning towards the doors.

"Of course, not," Blaise said with a smile, following after Malfoy. They were silent for a moment as they put some distance between themselves and the other patrolling pairs. They patrolled for perhaps twenty minutes, when Zabini finally considered it prudent to speak to Draco.

"You didn't seem to be too happy today. In fact, if you weren't Draco Malfoy, I'd have said that you were in a downright _foul_ mood. But, of course, you are Draco Malfoy, so such a thing is not possible," Blaise said, casting a sly glance at his fellow Slytherin.

"I don't recall asking you for your opinion of the state of my emotions," Malfoy responded, politely disinterested.

"I know," Zabini responded cheerfully, "but that's the joy of my friendship, you're going to get it anyway."

"I didn't ask for any help or concern from you. I'm fine." There was a touch of chill in Malfoy's voice this time.

"But you aren't. You can lie to yourself about it all you want, but I know the truth. And the truth is: you are far from fine." Blaise shook his head regretfully. "This isn't good or healthy. You haven't smiled or laughed, or, hell, even snickered snidely at anybody for three days. You've practically ignored the existence of the Mudblood and the Hero."

"I'm choosing my battles; why are you questioning me?" Malfoy turned his head sharply to look at the other boy, his eyes the color of steel, and sharp as a blade.

"It's just that you've _never_ chosen your battles before. You _always_ attack whenever there is any sign of weakness, regardless of the recipient."

"Maybe it's time I grew up," Draco answered crisply. He sped up the pace of his walking a minute portion, as if seeking to outpace Zabini and his line of questioning.

"But Draco…" Zabini began, speeding up and catching Malfoy by the inside of his elbow, bringing him to a stop.

In a sudden fit of fury, Draco Malfoy allowed himself to be pulled to a stop, only to whip his arm out of Zabini's reach with a violent twist of his body. Staring the other Slytherin directly in the eyes, he snarled, "That's Lord Malfoy to you Zabini, and don't you forget it! Until such time as you come of age _and_ your mother dies, you'll not be a lord, and never my equal. Don't presume to treat me as such."

Spinning back around, _Lord_ Malfoy resumed his walk, gray eyes penetrating the shadows of the hall, looking for errant students. Behind him, Blaise Zabini stood, in shock at the words Lord Malfoy had said.

"Oh no you don't." Blaise snarled at the blonde's retreating back. "You'll not get away from this discussion that easily. I'm a Slytherin, too." Barring his teeth in a semblance of a smile, Blaise took off in a light jog, easily catching up to the other prefect.

"Fine, _Lord_ Malfoy, I'm not your social equal, and I never will be, but I am more than a match for you in stubbornness, and, by Merlin, you _will_ talk to me tonight." Grabbing the other boy again, this time by the shoulder, Blaise spun him around. "Slytherins stand by their own."

Though anger still lit his eyes, Lord Malfoy bit back a scathing retort aimed at the black boy in front of him. "Indeed we do, but you've conveniently left off the end of our motto, Zabini. 'Slytherins stand by their own _in time of need_.'"

"And you aren't in need?" Blaise scoffed, "You are a shell of a person moving through life like an inferni."

"Stop pestering me, or _you_ _and_ _I_ will be the prefects that spent the night fighting, instead of the Mudblood and her Weasel," Lord Malfoy said, clearly frustrated, as he began to walk again.

"If that is the way it has to be, then so be it." Blaise said determinedly.

Lord Malfoy threw his hands in the air. "Damn Zabinis! You're like mangy dogs with a bone when you decide to get nosy about something. Why couldn't you leave me my peaceful silence?"

"Because, there was nothing peaceful about your silence," Blaise said softly, knowing he'd won this round.

Draco growled and continued walking, though at a more sedate pace. "Fine."

Minutes passed in silence, during which Blaise was content to let Malfoy work off his steam before the explanations began.

"My father isn't dead," Draco said eventually, "Not in a true sense. If put under Veritaserum, I'd have to say he was still amongst the living, though that isn't really the case."

Blaise retained his silence. Once you got a Malfoy talking, you'd already passed the difficult ground, and all that was left was maintaining the patience to allow them to speak at their own pace. Given the time, a Malfoy would run a topic into the ground, all inquiries satisfied, but interruptions had to be nonexistent at the beginning. Questions were allowed at the end, but only if they were pointed and intelligent. Truly, they'd make good teachers if given the right kind of student. Then again, no Malfoy would condescend to do something as menial as _teach._

"His body lives, but his mind, and soul, are gone. Gone at the behest of my father's _Master_." Draco snarled, "That deranged jackal who has no true emotions, so he lives his life vicariously through the lives of his followers, with the help of his detested Dark Mark." On a purely intellectual level, Malfoy knew what he'd said, what he was _saying_, but he had to be sure he was understood. It was rather like a compulsion, and one that all blood-related Malfoys suffered from.

"He commands the Dementors, you know."

Draco paused and glanced at Blaise, as if seeking conformation.

"Oh, uh, no. I didn't know. When did this happen?" Blaise stumbled.

"About two months ago. Not long after the Dark Lord's return, he began seeking an alliance with all of the Ministry's Dark Creatures. The Dementors were the first to ally themselves with their 'Dark Star'." Lord Malfoy shook his head. "From what I'd heard, the next on the list are the giants, though our _Lord_," here he spat the word, "seems to be having trouble with them and their warped politics."

Draco fell into silence once more as he and Blaise discovered two separate pairs of students cuddled up to one another within 5 meters of each other. If 'cuddling' could be used to describe what those couples were doing.

Blaise was snickering as they walked away, having taken a whopping 50 points from each couple for breaking curfew and 'public indecency without the forethought to even use proper concealment charms.' Draco had such a way with words sometimes. Once things had settled down, they went back to their patrolling.

"It was the Dementors that did it. Which one it was, I suppose, doesn't really matter, not like I could do anything about it." Draco said, as if he was speaking about the weather. "But the fact remains that the driving force behind my fathers murder was none other than the Dark Lord himself. _He_ is the one that controls the Dementors. _He_ is the one that chooses their victims, and it was _He_…who told them to embrace my father."

Despite himself, Blaise let out a gasp of surprise. "Surely, not!"

"I only wish," Draco responded grimly. "My father has indeed been embraced by a Dementor and, as I speak, is going through the process to _become_ one of those vile creatures."

"Oh, Merlin," Blaise breathed.

"And so, I have been entrusted by my mother, and the shareholders of our companies, with the running of all of our various estates, as well as bearing the burden of being the youngest lord ever." Draco's voice had softened to barely a whisper; sorrow smoothing away the rough edges that anger had put in his voice. "It's been tough, knowing that somewhere, my father's body is still alive, while his soul has fled his body from the Dementor's contagion. Knowing that, if I were to see him now, I would be treated no differently than any other person, and would be hunted mercilessly for the soul that I contain." He shook his head in a futile gesture of denial. His walking slowed to a stop and he turning his head slowly in Blaise's direction. "So, no Blaise, I haven't had much reason to smile lately. Why would I? My father's dead, my mother, who loved him so much, is falling to pieces before my eyes, I've been made Lord Malfoy – as such I'm expected to run the estates that my father once did – and I've still got my schooling to go through as well. Not to mention I'm now stuck trying to decide whether or not to still follow the Dark Lord as my father wanted me to."

"Draco…" Blaise said warningly. He was able to forgive, and forget, what he'd heard the Head of Malfoy House say earlier, because he was distraught. But saying such things now, while he seemed so dreadfully calm, could spell disaster for his future. Blaise would not be able to deny the truth of this situation should he be asked about it. Veritaserum was not the only way to ensure that someone told you the truth.

"I'll Obliviate you later if you want, just listen for now." Draco said, waving his hand negligently. "The Dark Lord has deeply, deeply offended my family by doing something so disgraceful, so degrading, that I am almost _forced_ to call a _tanzier_ on him. But my father wanted to follow him. Why? Because he _believed_ in what the Dark Lord does. So much so that he was willing to abase himself by kneeling to another man, something no Malfoy should ever have to do." He began pacing back and forth along the hallway in front of Blaise. "What should I do? Should I follow in my father's footsteps and become a Death Eater? Or should I follow the path of family honor and call up a _tanzier_?"

Draco stopped pacing and looked at Blaise, a crooked smile on his face. "Who am I kidding? A _tanzier?_ On the Dark Lord? All I would be doing is signing my own death warrant, because families involved in a _tanzier_ are prohibited from receiving outside aid. It would be me, and my mother, against the Dark Lord and all of his knowledge acquired through his life – and unlife. We wouldn't stand a chance." He began to pace again only to stop mid-stride as a thought seemed to occur to him. "There is a third option, as detestable as it seems."

"Don't say it," Blaise said, now distinctly uncomfortable, and beginning to seriously regret his choice to goad the Malfoy heir into speaking. "Even the blood-feud of the _tanzier_ is a better choice than that!"

"Oh, but why not? It would be such fun." Draco sneered.

"No it wouldn't!" Zabini said, suddenly very afraid. "Contemplating leaving the Dark Lord's service and going neutral is bad enough, but to actually talk about…" Blaise choked, unable to say the words, even hypothetically. Desperate, he reached out with both hands and grabbed onto the shoulders of the slightly shorter boy. "You can't do it, Draco, you just can't!" he cried. "I wouldn't be able to protect you from Him should anyone ask me what you've said tonight! And Obliviates can be broken, you _know_ that."

"Not without breaking the mind." Lord Malfoy said contemptuously. "And only if that mind doesn't know Occlumency." He raised one sardonic eyebrow, "You _do_ know Occlumency, don't you?"

Blaise released Malfoy's shoulders and took a step back, nonplussed. "Of course, I know Occlumency, that's beside the point."

"No, it's not. You can use Occlumency to block out a great deal of pain. And if you've already withstood that amount of pain once, then there is very little chance of your mind breaking until your body dies."

"You don't mean to…" Blaise took another step back; suddenly worried about the turn the conversation had taken. Occlumency to block out pain? Surely, not. Draco mimicked his backward movement in perfect step, like a dancing partner with malice on the mind.

"To what?" Draco asked blandly, but with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Don't trust my intentions?"

Zabini, aware of Malfoy's tendency to tease any and everyone around him, paused to reconsider the situation. Draco had already promised to Obliviate him if necessary, but Malfoy was standing there so menacingly, with such a foreboding cast to his face, that Blaise had just assumed that Draco had meant to help him protect his mind from pain with a practical demonstration. Looking the other boy in the eyes, Blaise came to the conclusion that he'd been had.

"Draco…" Blaise said, a bit of whine in his voice.

"Blaise…" Draco mocked his tone.

"Damn you," Zabini said petulantly.

For the first time in three weeks, Draco Malfoy cracked a smile, and while it was small, and undernourished, leaving much to be desired, the simple fact that it was there gave Blaise a reason to flash a smile of his own. Perhaps things were going to be okay after all.

ooOO00OOoo

"Why me? Why me?" Hermione said, the following morning, slumping down onto the bench next to Harry at breakfast time.

"What now?" Harry asked mildly as he spooned himself a generous portion of porridge.

"We fought again, _all_ last night, and Professor McGonagall found out. She said that we weren't going to get any more chances to make things work for our prefect duties, two chances was enough. Now she said she's going to split us up and pair the two of us up with people from another house who seemed to have some trouble last night as well, though I assume it's not as much as us. _Nobody_ could have fought as much as us last night. Ron didn't even wait for us to leave the Great Hall before starting shit." Hermione shook her head morosely before folding her arms on the table and pillowing her head in them. "After last night, all I want to do is go to sleep."

"What about class, Hermione?" Ginny asked from a ways down the table.

From underneath the copious folds of her school robes, the muffled voice of Hermione floated to the ears of the recipients, stunning them into silence. "Screw class."

"Oh my god, who are you and what have you with Hermione Granger?" Harry said, mocking horror.

"Screw you, Harry Potter," she replied, her muted tones not disguising her distaste for the world in particular, and Harry in general.

"Uh-huh." Looking around the table, the general consensus was the Hermione was Out Of Her Mind.

"Maybe we should just leave her alone," someone suggested.

"Good idea," Harry nodded and applied himself industriously to his porridge.

ooOO00OOoo

As the day progressed, Hermione seemed to pull herself out of her morning funk, which was a wonderful thing. Except that she also seemed to be passing it along to Harry. The more cheerful she got, the more twitchy he became, especially as his impending detention drew near.

"Would you stop that?" Harry snapped at Hermione as she whistled down the hallway next to him.

"Well, ex_cuse_ me, Mr. Pissed-In-His-Pants, but I'm in a good mood, and I'm not going to let you drag me down," she said with a toss of her head.

Gritting his teeth, Harry tried to remind himself that he wasn't really mad with Hermione, just the Toad for her unjust treatment of him, and her horribly biased opinion of Voldemort. "Sorry," he said stiffly.

"S'okay," Hermione said. "I still love you."

Two nights ago, Hermione had decided that Harry hadn't had enough people telling him that they loved him, and ever since then, she'd had the disturbing tendency to tell Harry that she loved him as often as possible.

_I do wish she'd stop that._ Harry thought uncomfortably as they returned to Gryffindor Tower to study for a few hours before he had to leave for his meeting with the Toad. _Makes me nervy._

Studying didn't help calm his already jumpy nerves, since it was Defense against the Dark Arts that they was studying, and Umbridge was the teacher who he was serving the detention with. Five minutes before he had to leave for detention, Harry's tension spiked. _Why, oh why, did she have to make me serve the detention_ with her? Harry fretted. _Even Hermione's tense about it, I can tell. This isn't going to turn out well._

Much to Harry's dismay, upon his entrance to Umbridge's 'lair', Harry discovered that the bad feeling he had shared with Hermione was warranted.

"Come in, come in." the Toad said sweetly.

Harry closed the door softly behind him, the 'click' of the latch sounding horrendously loud in the confines of the empty classroom.

"Sit down." She had a demonic smile on her face as she indicated the lone chair in the room with a scroll of parchment and a quill.

Doing as instructed Harry picked up the quill, expecting to do lines. He was not mistaken.

"This," she said, waving her hand at the blackboard behind her, "is the line that you will copy over, for the next two hours." In big block letters the words 'I must not tell lies' had scrawled themselves inelegantly across the entirety of the board. "Get started."

Sighing in defeat, Harry looked down at the paper, the length of which he knew would continue to grow as he wrote, ensuring that he'd never have to stop and ask for more paper as a reprieve.

Placing quill to parchment Harry began by making the top line to the word 'I' when he felt a stinging pain in his right hand. Hissing in pain, he dropped the quill and inspected the back of his hand. There was a line there, running from right to left, cut into his skin, just deep enough to bleed. Bringing his hand up to his mouth, he licked the blood away, the copper taste filling his mouth for a moment.

"Is there a problem, Mister Potter?" his teacher asked sweetly.

"I cut myself, ma'am." Harry responded, though he'd be damned if he knew how.

"Really?" She asked, uninterested. "Is it deep?"

"No."

"Is it painful?"

"Well, yes…" Harry began.

"Then I see no problem. Pain is a very potent motivator, wouldn't you agree?" her voice of molasses contained a hint of steel.

Warily, Harry looked back at her. "Sometimes, yes."

"Then I suggest you get motivated and begin writing, or I'll have to extend this detention." Harry swore her mouth resembled a bear trap.

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry replied wearily. He really didn't want to be here.

Picking the quill back up, he made the last two strokes of the letter 'I' when pain again registered in his hand. Looking down in disbelief, Harry realized that the letter 'I' he had just drawn on the parchment, was etched into the back of his hand and that the ink he was using…was his own blood.

"Oh, Merlin's balls," Harry said softly, in disbelief. She expected him to write in his own blood?

"Professor…!" Harry began, outraged.

"Mister Potter?" She cut him off sharply, daring him to say something. Daring him to be a wimp and give in, to complain about the quill. _Stand up._ She thought gleefully. _Go ahead, do it! Throw a fit about the quill and see where it gets you! You're too much of a hothead to keep your thoughts together, and you'll only end up getting yourself into trouble, and me, none at all! Go ahead, say something, I dare you to!_

Harry was a hothead; it was true, but not so much of one that he couldn't recognize the look in his _teacher's_ eyes. _She wants me to say something. How could she not get into trouble for this? _Looking down at his hand, he saw that the cuts had healed themselves, and his hand was smooth and unblemished as if they'd never been there. _Dear Merlin._

"Never mind," Harry said, realizing that he was in a terrible situation. The cuts wouldn't stay on his hand for any significant amount of time, and he'd heard a rumor that she would start interviewing teachers and sitting in on their classes soon. Rumor said that she even had the ability to fire teachers! What could they do about this when their own jobs were at stake? Besides, who would believe him? There weren't any marks to show, and the blood…Harry leaned over the parchment and inspected the letter he'd drawn closely. Already dry, the blood had darkened to black, appearing as nothing more interesting than poor quality ink.

Gritting his teeth, Harry picked up the quill again, glaring at it a moment in distaste, before placing it down on the paper, preparing to make the downward stroke of the letter 'm'. To his disgust, he could actually _feel_ the quill pressing down on his skin, even as it pressed down into the parchment. His jaw tight as a sprung wire, Harry drug the quill down the paper, pain blossoming in his mind as he watched his skin tear open under the pressure of an invisible force. Turning his head up to glare at his torturer, Harry was unsurprised to see her smirking gleefully at him.

"Problem?" she asked scathingly.

"…No." Placing quill to parchment yet again, Harry began the torturous task of writing his lines, written in blood.

ooOO00OOoo

Harry cradled his aching right hand at he wobbled down the hall towards his dorm. It had been two torturous hours since his session had begun, and Harry really wasn't looking foreword to the next two detentions he had to serve with the Designer of Nightmares.

Grateful that he hadn't met anybody, Harry collapsed into his bed, his hand throbbing with remembered pain. Looking down at it, Harry was distraught to notice that there still was no evidence of the cuts that had been carved, over and over again, into the living flesh of his hand. At the end of two hours, the Toad had come up to Harry and demanded to see the back of his hand. Inspecting it closely, she had observed the thin red lines that had etched themselves into a discernable pattern on his skin and had observed, scathingly, that tomorrow he had another chance for the lesson to 'sink in properly' and to have a 'deeper affect' on him.

Serin, for his part, was scathingly mad with Harry for forbidding him to attack the Toad, and was curled up sullenly on the top of Harry's head, in his fury, refusing to speak to him.

"Pleasse," Harry tried to reason with him, "Biting her would have only made thingss worsse, not better. Few people at thiss sschool have the influence necesssary to sstop her in what sshe iss doing. That sshe iss here at all provess that the Rulerss-Of-Wizardss have a far larger hold in my Place-Of-Learning than we had originally thought." Harry explained. Hermione wasn't his friend for nothing. 

Silence was his only response.

"_Come on, talk to me. Why are you sso mad…" _Harry cut off as a person entered the room and addressed him.

"Talking to yourself in Parseltongue again, Harry?" Hermione asked, her head having breached the edge of his bed. "You know that's the first sign of insanity."

"Not if you've got somebody to talk to." Harry responded with a smile, sitting up on his bed. "How was your night?"

"Ugh, it was _terrible_," Hermione said, flopping down onto the bed beside him. "McGonagall paired up me and Blaise Zabini for some Merlin-be-damned reason." She brought a hand up and covered her eyes with her slender fingers. "Which, in all honesty, wasn't _that_ bad, I can see why he's number one on the girls list now, but he inevitably searched out Malfoy, because they're such good friends and all, and in the end, it was the four of us standing in the hallway shouting at each other. Because, of course, Ron just_ had_ to be paired up with Malfoy."

"That doesn't sound good," Harry said, sympathetically.

"No, no it doesn't," Hermione acknowledged. "Malfoy and Ron couldn't keep their mouths shut at all, so they were fighting. Blaise took Malfoy's side, no surprise there, but what about me? Ron stood there, saying all of these mean things about Malfoy. In fact, he was saying the _same_ things about Malfoy that he'd been saying about me just the night before! So…" Hermione continued sheepishly, "I sided with the Slytherins."

"What!" Harry cried, sitting bolt upright.

"I know, I know!" Hermione brought her other hand up and covered her whole face with both hands, her muffled voice escaping out the bottom of her palms. "And, Merlin help me, it was fun! Malfoy has such a sharp tongue, and it's really rather amusing when he's not using it against you or me, not to mention that Blaise said some really pointed things as well. Towards the end there, I swear, Malfoy was actually saying things that would set me up to lash out at Ron." She paused, "poor Ron," she continued in a soft voice, "he didn't know what hit him. I guess he just assumed that I was going to back him up since we're both in Gryffindor, and I normally would have, but you haven't _heard_ the things he says to me when we're alone in the hallways. I just couldn't resist any opportunity to hurt him."

"Well, I hope you got him good," Harry said, resigned.

"Yeah, I did." Hermione said with a grin. "But we didn't fight for all that long, McGonagall heard the yelling and found us. She split the fight up and told us that we were all to go back to our dorms and think about what we'd done. Said that we should think about whether or not we really wanted to be prefects, because she could take it away if that's what we really wanted."

"Is she going to take it away from you?" Harry asked, worried.

"I don't think so, I think she knows that Ron keeps starting it, and that I'm only defending myself. The other two?" She shrugged. "Don't know, don't care."

"At least you'll be alright, that's all that matters right now. I'll take what I can get." Harry flopped back down on his back next to Hermione.

"Why do you say that?" Hermione rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow to look down at Harry. "What did that woman do to you?"

"Nothing particularly horrible." Harry assured Hermione, unable to bring himself to tell her about the quill that wrote in blood. "She just made me write lines: 'I must not tell lies.'" Harry spat.

"Oh, dear," Hermione shook her head in disgust.

"Yeah. And she just sat there the whole time, _smiling_ at me; it was so hard not to just hex that stupid grin right off her face." Harry bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile, "and I get to do it all again tomorrow night."

"It'll be okay," Hermione patted his shoulder awkwardly from her position on the slender bed. "You only have two days left, then you just have to keep your mouth shut and your head down, and you won't get any more detentions."

"I don't know about that," Harry disagreed, sitting up and running his fingers through his wild mane. "She was so….happy…at the end of my detention tonight, said she was looking foreword to the next one, so that the lines could 'make an impression' on me. I'm worried about what she means." Harry thought he was dancing around the truth rather well.

"It'll be okay," Hermione said again, this time more firmly, "you'll see." She'd make it be okay.

Glancing over at Harry's bedside watch, Hermione saw just how late it was. "Geeze, it's one o'clock! I got back over an hour ago, why didn't you tell me it was getting so late?" Hermione admonished as she stood up and headed for the door. She paused with her hand on the door. "Where is everybody else?"

Harry grinned, appreciating a rare moment in which he knew something that she did not, and stood to his feet. "Open the door."

Confused as to how that answered her question, Hermione did as she was bid, and a whole tangle of bodies landed at her feet in welcome. "Dean? Seamus? Ron? And…_Neville?"_ Hermione asked incredulously. "What are all of you doing listening in at the door of your own dorm?"

Hermione looked back at Harry for confirmation when an idea struck her. "You don't think…that _they_ think, that we…" She trailed off.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, his grin a mile wide.

"Eeewww!" Hermione shrieked. "You are all disgusting!" She released the door and backed away from them all, hands outstretched as if to ward them, and their horrible ideas, away from her delicate person. "Where do you get these gross ideas?"

"Well…you see..." Neville spluttered.

"You and Harry were alone in here for an hour, and it was so quiet, we knew you had to have silencing charms up," Seamus explained unabashedly. "You did, didn't you?"

"No!" Hermione cried, at the same time as Harry quietly answered,

"Yes."

She whipped her head around to stare at him. "What?"

Harry sighed and sat down onto his bed. When he'd pulled his feet in front of him and was sitting Indian style, he began to talk, but no sound escaped him. Standing to his feet, and stepping away from the bed, Harry explained, "I have a permanent silencing charm around my bed."

"Why?" Hermione asked, befuddled.

"To study." Harry answered.

"To hide the girls!" Dean cried triumphantly, "I knew it!"

"No." Harry said with a chuckle and a shake of his head, "I study late at night when you guys are asleep, and sometimes I read aloud. I didn't want to wake you all up."

"But…" Neville said slowly, eyebrows furrowed. "If you only use it to study, why couldn't we here you and Hermione talking?"

"She had to have been in bed with you!" Seamus pounced on that bit of information. "Good going, Nev!"

"She was," Harry said, enjoying the uncomfortable look on Hermione's face.

"The whole time?" Dean asked hopefully.

"The whole time," The raven haired youth confirmed, wickedly.

"Harry Potter, you little liar!" Hermione spat out, advancing on him. "You're making it sound like we were shagging, just like those three were trying to make it sound like Ron was," she made a vague, but universally understood gesture with one hand, "in the bathroom the first night of prefect duties!"

There was a sudden fit of coughing from her left and she paused in her attack on Harry to turn and look at the congregation still loitering in the doorway.

"What?" she asked again, it seemed to be her favorite word tonight. She took in the Ron's flaming face, and the other three's incessant – and obviously fake – coughing as they tried to slide out the door. "You mean…" she said as realization struck, "you weren't trying to insinuate that, but rather, hide it from me?" She asked, horrified.

"Oh, Merlin." She breathed, becoming sick, "and he said my name…" her face as well began to flame red as she blushed. "I've got to go," She said suddenly, forcing her way through the boys in the doorway and fleeing.

When the four boys had finally managed to get back inside their doom, having firmly closed and locked the door behind them, all they saw was an empty room, and the curtains drawn firmly around Harry's bed.

_I bet I know what he's doing._ Ron thought darkly. _Laughing his ass off at me, that's what. I'll show him, I'll show them all! How dare those sneaky Slytherins try to steal Hermione from me, and how dare Harry try to as well! I'll teach them all a lesson, and then Hermione will love me!_ Nodding his head in satisfaction, Ron ignored the snickering of the other three males and completed his nightly routine. Tomorrow, he would go to the library and find a suitably nasty spell to cast on them all. One that was rare and difficult to cast. _Then_ Hermione would be impressed with his intelligence and magical skill. She'd _have_ to take him back then.

ooOO00OOoo

Thursday, Ron got up at the crack of dawn and made his way down to the library, surprised to discover that he wasn't the only person who got up that early to get into the library.

"Ravenclaws," Ron muttered to himself and rolled his eyes as he set his stuff down at a table in the back, claiming it as his own. Abandoning it there for a moment, he went and browsed through the many shelves of the library, determined that he would find something to make Hermione his, for all eternity.

ooOO00OOoo

Harry was annoyed. For two days now, teachers and students had been asking him where Ron was, as if he'd had a reason to know. Ginny had asked him where Ron was when he'd not shown up for breakfast; Harry had replied that he didn't know. Professor McGonagall had asked him where Ron was when he didn't show up for transfiguration; Harry had replied that he didn't know. Fred and George had asked him where Ron was during lunch (they'd had a prank they wanted to test on him); they were sorely disappointed when Harry responded that he didn't know. Even Professor Trelawney asked him where Ron was, claiming that her inner eye was 'a bit clouded' at the moment. Harry, sorely tempted to run screaming from the room, gritted his teeth and responded, calmly, if a bit tensely, that he didn't know.

Now, an hour later, Harry was still in a bad mood. And if one more person asked him where that red-haired, freckle-faced, lying, backstabbing, two-faced, conniving, son-of-a—no, Harry love Mrs. Weasley, and wouldn't say such things about her, even in his mind.

Stalking into the courtyard, Harry chose a bench from which he could easily observe any annoying person approaching him with another damn question about Ron's whereabouts. It was Friday afternoon, he had another torture session with the Toad to go to tonight, and Serin was off hunting with Hedwig. All he wanted to do was relax.

"Hey, Harry." Hermione said, sitting down next to him. "How are you?"

"Tired, and annoyed," Harry responded pithily.

"Ah," Hermione nodded solemnly. "So, where's Ron?" she asked cheekily.

Harry glowered at her. "You _do_ know you are the only person who could _possibly_ ask me that right now and live?" he asked her darkly.

"Yeah, I know." She said with way too much cheer and nudged his shoulder gently with her own. "Cheer up, I'm sure he'll turn up soon, and then they'll leave you alone."

"Should just put a damn cow-bell around that prick's neck," Harry grumped.

Hermione laughed softly and sat in companionable silence with him for a while.

Students were congregating in little clumps in the courtyard, clearly segregated by gender. The girls stood in tight little circles, giggling about something, while the boys stood casually in semi-circles – opening towards the girls of course – and chatted about everything and nothing at once. Every once in a while, a few of the girls in one group would split off and join one of the other groups, and the males would inevitably follow, sometimes towards a different group, and sometimes with a different number of people leaving, but always the same strange dance.

Time passed, and, eventually, Harry's bottom became numb. Glancing to his right, he noticed amusedly, that Hermione had pulled out a book, and appeared to have been reading it for some time. Chuckling softly, Harry reached out a hand and tapped her gently on the shoulder.

"Hmm? What?" Hermione started.

"It's about time for me to go, I've got Divination next." Harry stood to his feet and laced his fingers together, raising them over his head to stretch out sore muscles.

"Okay," Hermione said, putting her book away. Taking Harry's proffered hand, she stood to her feet. "I might as well go back to my dorm and do some homework, before Runes later on today."

Harry smiled at her in goodbye and turned to walk away. Suddenly, a voice from behind him yelled out an unfamiliar phrase in a rage-filled tone:

"Spiritus Semper Simul!"

Acting on instinct alone, Harry spun – lightening quick – on the balls of his feet, and leapt in front of Hermione, at whom the spell was aimed, his wand flashing into sight as he threw up a hasty protection charm in front of them both. It was too late; the spell was too powerful, his shield; too weak, and Harry's breath slammed out of him as he felt the bone-breaking impact of the spell lash across his skin. Flying backwards, Harry fell hard on Hermione, and the two of them lay in a tangled mess of limbs on the ground, his wand still tightly clenched in his hand.

Dimly, Harry heard the sound of someone crying out in pain and surprise. Part of the spell had hit Harry, but the shielding spell had done it's job, and deflected most of the attack, sending it skittering off in another direction to strike an innocent bystander. Groaning to his feet, Harry was unsurprised to discover that, in the few seconds that he'd lain, winded, on the ground; he, Hermione, and – Ron? – had acquired a crowd. All of them stood around the trio in a rough circle, mouths gaping at something Harry couldn't see. Turning his head to the left, Harry saw the shocked features of Ronald Weasley and all of the anger and frustration he'd held in through the day over the inane questions people had asked him boiled over in one dark cloud of emotion. Striding up to the red-head, Harry balled up his fist and drew it back past his ear, sending it crashing into the back-stabbers face with the crushing force of a punch that began in his left foot, traveled up his leg, through his torso, and down his right arm to center directly behind one tightly clenched fist.

Harry had never heard a sound so satisfying as the involuntary grunt that Ron gave as his body collapsed, boneless, onto the ground.

"Ouch! Shit!" Harry cried, shaking his hand out as pain reversed the course the energy had taken, traveling back up his arm, before deviating from the standard course and traveling directly up his brainstem and making it's presence known in his already-addled brain.

"What happened to Malfoy?" Harry heard Hermione ask as she compulsively, and shakily, brushed leaves from her robes as she eyed the body on the ground with the white-blond hair.

"The spell rebounded off Harry's shield and hit him." Harry heard someone else respond.

"Is he okay?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Yeah," was Malfoy's grumpy response as he sat upright.

"Then we'd better get out of here before a teacher shows up," Harry said, and turned to do just that. Gathering up Hermione's scattered books, Harry walked up to her and together, the two of them turned and walked quickly away from the scene of the crime.

It was then, that Malfoy screamed.

ooOO00OOoo

I know, I know, you all probably hate me now, but what can I say? I've been planning this moment since the idea for this story was first hatched, and I am so happy with the way it's turned out. For those of you who really want to know, the spell Ron said, "Spiritus Semper Simul" translates, roughly, to "Spirits always together." More on exactly _what_ that spell has done at a later date. P.S.: The whole _tanzier _thing, yeah all mine. Tootles!


	14. The Essence of Pain

Chapter 14: The Essence of Pain

Pain.

It was a new sensation for Draco Malfoy, pain. He'd hurt himself before, who hadn't? He'd stubbed his toe, sliced his finger open on the edge of a piece of paper, and even, once, walked into a door when he wasn't paying attention. Thus far, however, Draco had managed to live his live without any true pain. The most excruciating thing he'd experienced in his young life had been the Hippogriff attack on his arm, and that had been over too fast for him to feel any _real_ pain. The talons were sharp, slicing cleanly through the flesh of his arm, and that had made Madam Pomfrey's job much easier. He'd been fully restored in minutes, never mind the fuss he'd made about it for days afterward.

But this.

_This_ was pain.

It had started mildly, a slight twinge in his chest, as if someone had taken their finger and poked him just a bit too hard. Nothing to worry about. He'd mostly been angry that Potter had been, once again, far too incompetent a wizard to even make a proper shielding charm, and had gotten Draco involved in his little lovers quarrel with the Weasel. And then someone had asked him if he was all right.

Of _course_ he was all right!

It was just a spell the Weasel had cast, what was there to worry about? The pathetic excuse for a Pureblood had only knocked him down, and he could get up any time he felt like it.

But Scarface had already gotten to his feet and Draco was too interested in watching Potter charge at the Weasel to get up. Potter balled up his fist and knocked the other out like a true English pugilist, never mind that he was a wizard and should be above such things.

The twinge had gotten worse then, but only mildly, as if the mysterious someone had given up on poking him with their finger and had grabbed a quill and pressed it into his skin. Still, not something that could be called true _pain_, but whatever it was, was beginning to make him feel just a _bit_ uncomfortable. Still, it was more than bearable, and he could have ignored it for an hour or more before he would start to complain about something so trivial. No, it was after the whole thing was over, and the Weasel was lying in the dust, knocked out cold, that things had really taken a turn for the worst.

The fight was dispersing, no one the wiser for what had happened, when the pain slammed into him with the force of a disarming spell. Having gained his feet, and in the middle of brushing the dust off his robs, Malfoy suddenly blinked his eyes, and realized he was on his knees, with no memory of getting there. Once again, the pain slammed into him, and he crumpled over, the breath gushing out of his lungs in a great whoosh of air. Bent double, Draco had no choice but to stare stupidly at the grains of dirt so close to his nose as the pain refused to release him. His hands were clasped convulsively around his forearms and he could not think to undo them. A dull roar began howling in his ears and the world narrowed to a tiny pinprick of light, through which he could see the world, so very far away. Sweat broke out over his entire body, and his vision swam sickeningly, zooming close, before disappearing again down a long tunnel of black to become a mere spot. Draco retched as the pain crested over his body in waves; sweat and spit intermingled to drip down over his chin.

Shuddering, he collapsed under his own weight, his muscles tensing and spasming under the assault of agony that rendered his body useless. Twitching violently in the dust, Draco began to twist and writhe, striving to escape from pain that had no end. As the pain continued to escalate, the force pushing down on his lungs was overpowered by a nameless urge that he was helpless to resist.

And it was then, that Draco Malfoy screamed.

Convulsing helplessly on the ground in a seizure, his hands clamped in the silver strands of his hair, Malfoy screamed. His back arching off the ground, heels digging into the dust, he ripped hair and flesh from his scalp in an effort to escape the pain. Throwing his head back, it cracked sickeningly on the edge of the cobblestone walkway, only serving to escalate the already painful screaming into something less human. On and on the sound continued, beyond the point where his lungs should have expired, the sound from his throat echoing around the small hallways and arches surrounding the courtyard.

Abruptly, the pain ceased, and cool hands touched his forehead, resting on his shoulders. A rough voice spoke to him.

"Malfoy, shut the fuck up! Can you hear me!? Shut up!"

Closing his mouth with a whimper, Malfoy curled towards the cooling hands that seemed to banish the memory of the pain where they touched him.

"Merlin, he's crazy. What the hell happened to him? He was fine a minute ago." The voice said again.

"I don't know." A softer one replied. "We should take him to the Infirmary."

"I don't know…." The rough one said, then, hastily, "You know, you're right. The Infirmary…" the voices faded away, and Malfoy lacked the strength to summon them back, with the cool hands on his shoulders, he drifted into oblivion.

ooOO00OOoo

"Oh, Shit."

"So you're telling me that he…and I…and…_he…_" He was babbling, he knew he was babbling, but what was a boy to do? When you'd just been told that your life was over, there wasn't much you _could_ do but babble uncontrollably.

"I'm truly sorry my boy." The Headmaster said sadly.

Staggering over to one of the nearby beds, Harry sank gratefully into its cushioned softness, his mind reeling.

So, Harry was bound to Draco _bloody_ Malfoy for no better reason than Ron was a jealous bastard? No way. There was simply no way. How was he expected to just….he couldn't, it was that simple. He just couldn't.

Ron, it seemed, had gotten mad at Hermione for siding with the Slytherins that one night and had decided that he was going to get her back _no matter what._ He'd spent the following day holed up in the library, of all places, researching a spell that would make her love him. The pickings had been few and far between, however, and he'd had a limited number of spells to choose from. It hadn't taken him long to make a decision, and he'd quickly retired to an abandoned classroom with the tomb containing the spell clutched close to his chest. Madam Pomfrey had questioned him on which one he had picked, and sent Hermione off to find the tome he had specified. After he was safely wandless, of course.

It had taken her almost half an hour to find it, and Harry had stayed in the infirmary the whole time, staring at the ceiling and flexing his sore hand. It hurt to punch someone in the face, he had discovered. Ron had sat in the infirmary bed, his bruised face as yet untreated because Madam Pomfrey was busy fussing over the still unconscious form of Draco Malfoy. He'd tried to speak once, something about an apology, but Harry had cut Ron off before he'd even gotten started. Harry didn't want an apology from someone who would sound like they were choking when they said it.

Lapsing into silence, Ron had been forced to simply watch Harry pace back and forth across the distance of the Infirmary. The mediwitch had been extremely displeased the one time Ron had asked her for a pain-be-gone spell. Something about 'getting what he deserved', and 'the curse comes back to the caster' whatever that meant. He hadn't really been listening. What did it matter? He hadn't gotten Hermione after all. And after this, he doubted he'd get another chance. She would never trust him around her again. He'd have to do something else if he wanted her. Perhaps a potion? The idea had merit, and Ron had spent the next minutes straining his brain, trying to remember the different potions that the bastard Snape had made them brew, as well as the ones he'd only mentioned.

Harry, for his part, simply paced back and forth, for the first time in his life, wishing that he'd never met the Weasley. Harry didn't think that Draco Malfoy would have made a better friend than Ron Weasley, but Harry was fairly sure that with Malfoy, at least he'd have known to watch his back for something this shady. That's what you got with sneaky Slytherin's.

Finally, Hermione had returned with the book, breathless, and stated that it had been mis-shelved, with the household cleaning books. Pomfrey had thanked her, taken the book, and promptly turned very, very green around the gills. Muttering a strangled something, she'd instructed the two of them to _stay there_ and bustled off to her office, shutting the door smartly behind her. The next few minutes were spent with the two of them looking at each other a lot and shrugging, Ron being ignored through unspoken consent. Hermione said that she'd only looked at the title of the book long enough to recognize it for the one Madam Pomfrey had wanted and had run the whole way back without a second glance at it, and didn't see what the fuss was about.

Eventually, the door to the Infirmary opened and Professors Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore stepped through, each of them sparing the students in the room narry a glance before disappearing into the office with the Mediwitch. Again, there was much standing around and staring before the four adults again entered the main room.

The Headmaster had begun to speak, his words solemn and slow. From that moment, Harry's heart sank to his shoes. This could _not_ be good.

Initially, the Headmaster only questioned Ron more about what he'd said and why, asking him where he'd found the spell and what his reasoning was behind choosing it. Hermione had listened intently to the half-muffled answers that the red head was supplying behind the very muggle ice pack Madam Pomfrey had finally given to him for his aching face. Harry had been unable to follow the Headmaster after the first few questions and had only managed to catch the fact that this was apparently payback for when Hermione had sided with the Slytherins against Ron that night in the hallway. Something along the lines of 'she's mine, willing or unwilling.'

Ignoring that fact for the moment, Dumbledore asked some very specific questions about how he'd pronounced the incantation and what wand movements he made. Snape inquired as to what he'd been thinking about, and McGonagall simply stared at him, as if he was a very large flea. It was all very muddled.

Eventually, the Headmaster turned to Harry and began to speak, his words deliberate and slow. The spell that Ron had cast, the _Spiritus Semper Simul_, was an ancient binding spell that used to be cast at weddings over a couple. It roughly translated to 'Spirits always together.' Few couples actually wished for it to be performed, since it created all sorts of uncomfortable situations between the two people that few would wish for. One of which was the fact that the two people could only be so far from each other, beyond which, it was like walking face-first into a brick wall. Not very pleasant.

At this point, Madam Pomfrey had piped up from her position beside Malfoy and stated that the spell appeared to be just doing that, but with an added bonus of pain. Something about the ricochet had changed the spell so that it didn't simply keep them from leaving each others presence, it gave severe pain if they tried to go outside the bounds of the spell. But only, it seemed, to Draco. Harry hadn't felt anything.

When Harry asked about a counter-spell, rather reasonably, he thought, he was granted a scathing comment from Snape and the knowledge that there _was_ no counter-curse, that's what made this situation so vile, and why so few couples ever performed this spell.

Malfoy was bound to Potter, and Potter to Malfoy. And there was nothing that they could do about it. The spell, in its original form, was designed to tie the two participants' souls together permanently. Then, it had been cast ineptly by somebody who didn't know the right steps to performing it, and who had muddled it horribly, from both saying it wrong and making the wrong wrist movements. He also cast it at an unwitting, and unwilling, partner, only to have it deflected and eventually strike an unprepared _male_. Unfortunately it was designed to be cast by a man at a woman.

"But wouldn't those things make the spell easier to break? I mean, it's deviated so far from its original function, it must be unstable." Hermione had asked at some point.

Perhaps, she'd been told, if it was any other spell. But this one had been deemed to be too dangerous to keep around, and it was outlawed and banished from collective memory. The words of the spell, and the books containing the words, were all rounded up and burned, those who knew of it were sworn to secrecy under pain of death, and all that was left of it was the warning that should it ever be cast again, Dementors would once again be born.

"What!" Had been Harry's cry of outrage and confusion. "I don't understand."

Dementors, he was told, were not natural creatures of the earth, but rather, people who had lost their souls to this spell. When the couple used this spell to bind their souls together, it was a permanent arrangement, one that would last throughout time; through this life, and into the next. Most people just assumed that when one person died, the other would follow immediately afterward and there would be two bodies instead of one. The unfortunate truth was far from it.

When one person died, the other soul fled its body, following that of its mate, to which it was irrevocably bound. The abandoned body would live on, because humanity is split up into the three parts of mind, body, and soul, and two of the parts can continue to live on even without the presence of the third…if the situation is correct.

Just as Voldemort managed to live on without his body, remaining only as a spirit and mind; the body left behind when the soul fled would continue to live on, existing as a body and mind without a spirit. This mind/body combination endlessly searched for its lost soul, seeking to reform the last side of the trinity and become whole once more. This was the true birth of the Dementors. When either Harry or Draco died, another Dementor would be born.

"Oh, Shit."

"So you're telling me that he…and I…and…_he…_" Harry was babbling, he knew he was babbling, but what was a boy to do? When you'd just been told that your life was over, there wasn't much you _could_ do but babble uncontrollably.

"I'm truly sorry my boy." The Headmaster said sadly.

As Harry staggered over to the bed, Hermione found, to her consternation, that her mind was once again going into overdrive.

"How do you know all this?" she asked boldly of her teachers. "And how can you be sure that this spell is going to do that to him now? Are you even sure that _this_ is the spell that they warn of? You said yourself that all records of the spell and specifically, that all books _containing_ the spell, were destroyed, so how is it that one could be found hiding here at Hogwarts? Madame Pince knows each and every book in that library I'd wager."

"And so do you, _I_ would wager." Dumbledore replied calmly. "But have you ever seen this before?" He asked holding up the old book that caused the calamity.

Hermione blushed and looked down a bit. "No, sir." She said meekly.

"And neither has Madame Pince." Professor McGonagall said, walking into the room, and Hermione started. When had she left?

"As I suspected." The Headmaster shook his head sadly, managing, in a single movement, to convey the deepest of regrets as well as a profound wish that things were not as they were.

Hermione looked helplessly between her one and only friend, and the one that used to be her friend. The one she thought she had loved.

"Sir?" she asked quietly of the headmaster, even as she stared at Ron, who had maintained a conspicuous silence throughout the entire explanation.

"Yes, my dear?"

"What about _him?_"

"_Him?"_ Albus queried, looking up to follow her line of sight. "Ah, yes. We mustn't forget about Mr. Weasley, who decided that it was a good idea to force his feelings upon another to grant himself satisfaction." Albus's gentle features hardened into a steel mask that was as unrecognizable on his face as it was unsettling. "From this moment on, young man, you are henceforth stripped of all of your prefect duties and privileges. You are also not allowed to participate in any of the extra-curricular activities. No Quiddich, no dances, and certainly no trips to Hogsmead. I don't want to see you wandering the hallways or loitering about. Until such time as it is decided what we are to do with you, you are to go to class and go back to your common room. Your wand will remain in my possession, as we are obviously not capable of trusting you not to grossly misuse it. You are certainly going to be expelled; we cannot trust you around other students. But this goes beyond mere expulsion. There will be legal ramifications to this, and you might have to face several years in Azkaban, such things usually transcend the rules of underage magic use." His words were final and brooked no argument. Even if the two heads of houses hadn't been standing behind him and nodding their heads at his every word, Ron would have known not to argue with the words of Albus Dumbledore when they were said in such a tone.

"Yes, sir." Ron said as meekly as possible and stared down at his shoes, wishing desperately that he was somewhere, _anywhere_ else. "I'm sor—" he began to say, but was cut off.

"Save it for those you have slighted." The headmaster said brusquely.

"Yes, sir." Ron said softly, and then lapsed back into silence.

Still staring at Ron with something frighteningly close to hatred, Hermione was surprised to feel the weight of a hand gently laid upon her shoulder.

"Go to him." The headmaster said softly, indicating Harry where he sat, still in shock, on the bed.

"Yes, sir." She said softly.

As she approaching the bed, Hermione was disturbed to notice that Harry was still staring straight ahead, his eyes unblinking. Closer still, and she saw his hands begin to shake, even as the rest of his body remained motionless. When she was close enough to touch him, she reached out, only to pause mid-movement as she saw his head begin to move. Slowly, as if it wasn't attached to his shoulders, Harry's head turned to face her, his face remaining eerily blank. It reminded her of a horror movie she'd seen once in which one of the main characters finally succumbed to a virus and became a zombie.

"…Harry?" she asked tentatively, unable to shake the image of a zombie Harry from her mind when he was sitting in front of her, "are you alright?"

Suddenly, Harry's face twisted into an ugly mask of rage.

"'Are you alright?'!!" he yelled furiously at her. "'Are you alright?'! What kind of stupid question is 'are you alright?'!" He jumped to his feet, his movements awkward and jerky, his breathing ragged. "Of course I'm not bloody well alright! I just got told that I've been soul-bound to Draco _bloody_ Malfoy for the rest of my life, and that the only way to escape it is to become a Dementor! No! I'm not _fucking_ alright!"

"I just meant..." Hermione started.

"I know exactly what you meant!" Harry cried, "You wanted to know if I'd suddenly smile and say, 'buck up, Hermione, things aren't as bad as all that!' Well, guess what? I'm _not_ going to say buck up, because things _are_ as bad as that, and I'll thank you to leave me the hell alone."

"Now Harry, there's no reason to use such language." The headmaster said crossly, a crease forming between his brows.

"'No reason'?!" Harry shrieked. "'No reason'!?" reaching behind him, he swept all of the items off of the bedside table, sending them clattering across the floor. "There is _plenty_ of reason to use bad language. I am going to turn into a _Dementor_ when I die!" he was screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Harry!" Professor McGonagall yelled, trying to catch his attention. "Calm down!"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Harry continued to scream, "I'll calm down when I bloody well feel like it! Why don't you people realize that telling someone to calm down when they're mad only makes them more pissed!" Dropping his volume, Harry continued in a softer tone, full of menace. "Once again, my life has been screwed up to unbelievable proportions, through no fault of my own. I didn't ask for this, I never do, and yet the universe insists on using me as it's shitting bucket."

"Elegant analogy, Potter." Snape drawled contemptuously.

"Don't talk to me." Harry snapped, "You don't have anything nice to say, you never do, so just be quiet. You'll only want to cast blame on me and say that it's _my_ fault that your precious Malfoy has been cursed with the likes of me."

"Now that you mention it…" the Potions Master began

"Yes, yes, I know." Harry said snidely, as he waved a hand negligently in Snape's direction, " stupid bloody Gryffindors, always acting on impulse. Why can't they learn to pull their heads out of their asses and use their brains for once?" he snarled in a passable imitation of Snape's more elegant baritone drawl.

Flushing angrily, the Potions Master opened his mouth to respond, no doubt something scathe and cutting about Harry, who was standing there, bouncingly lightly on the balls of his feet, muscles tense, and eyes glittering with suppressed fury. A small sound from across the room caught Harry's and Snape's attention.

Whipping his head around, Harry took in the seated form of Ronald Weasley, the originator of Harry's misfortune, and suddenly, his rage had a focused target. Releasing an inarticulate scream of rage, Harry brought his hands up, fingers curled into fists, and launched himself at the other boy, sending Ron flying back wards. Tumbling off the back of the bed, Ron cracked his head on the linoleum and saw stars. Clearing his head, he saw the snarling form of his ex-best friend hovering above him, teeth gnashing in his attempt to reach Ron.

Placing his palms on the floor, Ron scooted backwards on his butt, eyes wide. Was that Harry? The wild and crazy thing writhing in mid-air, fighting against an invisible force, could not possibly be Harry. Harry was calm and quiet. Sure, he'd yelled before, but never at Ron. Even when the two of them had split ways, Ron had been the one to yell, not Harry. It seemed to be against his very nature. And when it came to physical violence, Harry always had to be goaded beyond belief before he'd even _raise_ his wand at someone else. And he certainly had never raised a fist. But this was the second time today that Harry had not only raised a fist to Ron, but had actually done him harm as well. Now both the front and the back of his head was throbbing from what Harry had done to him.

"Calm down, Harry!" Professor McGonagall said, hurrying to end of the bed by the boys. "Violence won't solve anything!"

Unaware, or unconcerned with her words, Harry only struggled harder, his eyes wild and teeth barred. When the Professor reached a hand out to touch him, Harry snapped his teeth at her, barely missing her fingers as she snatched them back. Drawing her eyebrows down severely, Professor McGonagall reached a hand into her robes and withdrew her wand.

Calmly, she pointed it at Harry and said, "Stupefy." Instantly, he stopped snarling and relaxed, his body going boneless while his mind took a vacation.

Tucking her wand back into her robes, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey gently guided Harry's limbs out of the way while Professor Dumbledore slowly lowered him onto one of the nearby beds.

"Poor boy." Madam Pomfrey said, softly stroking a bit of hair out of Harry's eyes. "To have been through so much, and now to be subject to this."

"Yes, yes, Poor Potter has things _so_ bad."

Looking up, Hermione saw that Malfoy was finally awake.

"So what did Weasley do this time to piss off Potter?" Malfoy asked in a disinterested tone, looking at his nails.

"Same thing as before." Hermione said, "Only this time we know what he meant to do. And what he actually did."

"Oh?" he asked, flipping his hand over and looking at the backs of his fingers.

"Yes. I'm afraid that we know exactly what Mr. Weasley has done to you." Snape said to his pupil.

That got Malfoy's attention. "Oh?" he asked again, "to me?"

"Yes."

ooOO00OOoo

Ten minutes later, Malfoy sat in place while Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over him to checking his vitals, eyes glittering dangerously.

"So you're telling me." He began softly, "That the Weasel has managed to dig up an old banished spell and not only perform it incorrectly, but cast it so ineptly that we now have a twisted version of an already twisted spell binding me and Saint Potter together?" Malfoy spoke to his Head of House as if no one else were in the room.

"Yes."

"And the two of us cannot go beyond the allowable limits of the spell or I will be in pain like before?"

"Yes."

"I see." There was a pregnant pause in which everyone, especially Ron, tensed, waiting for him to blow up the same way Harry had upon hearing the news. "What is your middle name?" Malfoy asked calmly, looking at Ron.

"Uh, what?" Ron blinked in confusion.

"What. Is.Your. Middle. Name?" Malfoy spoke as if to a child.

"No, Draco." Snape said, stepping towards him. "I'll not allow you to do that."

"How are you going to manage that?" Draco asked, turning his head towards his Head of House.

"Because I am your Godfather, and your legal guardian. As such, you must have my permission first before you do something like this, and you do _not_ have it." Snape's voice brooked no argument.

"Don't give me that Godfather crap!" Malfoy suddenly snapped at him, his face set in a dark scowl. "You're only saying that to stop me."

"Of course I am, you dunderhead" Snape glowered. "That's the point."

"Stop him from what?" Hermione couldn't help asking.

"To challenge someone in a wizards duel, you first must know their whole name." McGonagall said absently to Hermione. "To be official. The problem is that a _true_ wizards duel is to the death."

"Uh-oh."

"Indeed."

"I don't care." Malfoy was saying resentfully. "He has just ensured that I am going to walk in my fathers footsteps! Everyone knows that Saint Potter is going to die at Voldemort's hands within the next five years. What does that say about my life expectancy? That in five years I'll be floating around beside my father looking for souls to consume, that's what!" Sitting on the table beside him, Malfoy's wand sparked alarmingly without his having to touch it. "That kind of life _deserves_ some payback and by Merlin he's going to get it!"

"He will get his punishment, Draco, in due course." Snape assured him. "The Headmaster has already stripped him of his prefect duties, and all extra-curricular activities. After we floo the authorities and get him taken away, he's going to be expelled."

"That's not enough!" Malfoy insisted, his eyes the color of steel.

"That is not all that is going to happen to him, I promise you." Snape guaranteed.

"Perhaps." Malfoy agreed reluctantly. "But how much of it is going to happen at my hands? This kind of insult _demands_ a personal response, or I will have shamed my family irrevocably. I'll not have _any_ more shame come upon the name of Malfoy."

There was such conviction in his tone that Hermione could not help but feel reluctant admiration for him. "Family must really mean a lot to him." She muttered to Professor McGonagall.

"For Malfoys, it's everything." Minerva explained. "That is why his fathers death hit him so hard. It wasn't that he'd died, but _how_ he'd died. The indignity of it. Mister Malfoy believes his father deserved better."

"Anyone deserves better." Hermione muttered.

"There is a time and a place for this Draco, and that time is not now." Snape told him. "Even if I gave you permission to do this, you could not do it now anyway. You are too bound by this curse to be able to take any action against Weasley. You need freedom of movement, and you just don't have that."

"I know that, Professor, I know!" Malfoy finally yelled, loosing his cool. "Believe me, I know! Father's beat enough of the lessons into my head by now that I remember exactly the set up of a wizards duel, but by Merlin I will have my dues!" He stood to his feet and faced the Headmaster. "This is exactly the sort of thing my father has been warning you about for years, Headmaster. Now you see the results of allowing Blood Traitors and Mudbloods in our midst!"

"Draco Malfoy, that is enough! Your mother would be ashamed of you." Madam Pomfrey said sharply.

Stiffening, Malfoy's eyes went wide for a moment before his face took on a look of contrition, and he slowly turned to face the mediwitch. Bowing at the waist, he spoke to her, his eyes firmly trained on the ground.

"My apologies, Lady, for saying such things in your presence. Apparently I don't quite have the breeding I thought I did." When her eyes softened, he turned to the rest of the room, keeping his back to Ron, and did the same. "My apologies, everyone. I have allowed my anger to get the best of me."

There were murmurs of acceptance from everyone but Hermione, who remained standing there, arms folded. Giving the smallest of sighs, Malfoy turned to directly face her and bowed again. "Please accept my apologies, Miss Granger, for before, and now, for my use of that foul word. It does not suit you."

Despite herself, Hermione weakened. How could she not forgive him? She wasn't even mad at Harry for the things he'd said and done, how could she hold the Mudblood comment against Malfoy? He'd been talking about Ron, after all, and she wasn't exactly feeling charitable towards _him_ at the moment.

"You are forgiven." She said softly, uncrossing her arms and touching him lightly on his shining head.

"Thank you, Lady." He said, straightening. Looking her in the eye, he offered her his hand, palm up.

A little curious, Hermione did as he wordlessly requested and placed her hand in his own. Bringing it up to his mouth, he smiled impishly at her for the briefest of moments before placing a kiss on the back of her hand with a resounding smack. "May your hair grow long and your toenails never break!"

Laughingly, Hermione pulled her hand back and smacked him lightly on his shoulder with it. "Shut up, you." She said, not unkindly. Was this the infamous Malfoy charm?

ooOO00OOoo

With suddenness not unlike that of a slap in the face, Harry came awake. With no slow transition stage between asleep and awake, he was left feeling a little disoriented as he sat up on the bed.

"Ugh, what happened?" he asked, a hand on his head.

"You tried to kill the Weasel and Professor McGonagall decided that it was best to Stupefy you for a little while." A voice Harry knew far too well said with a smirk in the tone.

"Ah, yeah. That would be right after I found out…" Harry trailed off and lowered his hand to look at his…roommate? Who was leaning against the foot board of one of the nearby beds.

"They told me." Malfoy said.

"Great." Harry said, and flopped back down on the bed, his arm flung over his eyes. "Just great. I was hoping it was all one big nightmare."

"I don't know what you've got to be so upset about, Potter, _you_ aren't going to be the one that turns into a Dementor."

"Why not?" Harry said, sitting up straight and looking Malfoy in the eye. "Nothing about this says that I'll be the one to die first."

"About this situation, no. But I'm not the one with a Dark Lord out for his head, now am I?"

Strange that after so many years of hostility, Malfoy and Harry were having their first quasi-civil conversation since he'd turned down Malfoy's offer of friendship. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.

"No," Harry frowned, "but who's to say you aren't going to choke on a grape at dinner tonight and die?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes expressively, "Don't be so pessimistic, Potter, that's my job. You aren't clever enough."

"We're in the same boat, I have as much right to be pessimistic as you do." Harry said snappishly. Maybe things _would_ be just as bad as they'd always been. "And I'm just as intelligent as you are."

"Mm-hm," Malfoy said doubtfully. "Keep telling yourself that."

"Why are you so evil, Malfoy?" Harry asked honestly.

"Evil?" Malfoy barked a laugh, "Just what I would expect from a lackey of Dumbledore. You have no concept of how the world really works, do you? The world is not made up of merely good and evil, dark and light. People are inherently shrouded in shades of gray. Of course, I wouldn't expect Perfect Potter to know that. You've led a charmed life, haven't you?"

"'Charmed life'?" Harry scoffed, "Hardly."

"Oh please." Malfoy rolled his eyes again. "Don't delude yourself."

"You're the one with the charmed life, in case you haven't noticed." Harry said peevishly. "Parents, a home…"

"Oh, Shut up, would you? I've heard enough senseless prattle from you today. It's bad enough that the Weasel has managed to bind the two of us together, try not to overload my ears with useless sounds." Malfoy turned his back on Harry and walked a few feet away, effectively ending the conversation.

Confused, and disgusted with the mini-conversation he'd just had with the Prince of Slytherin, Harry turned his eyes to the rest of the room and noticed that they were sectioned off from the rest of the ward by privacy curtains and a shimmering wall of energy that he assumed was a high-powered silencing charm.

A few minutes later, the two boys had yet to speak again when the curtain was pulled back and the spell dispersed, revealing the Headmaster, both of their heads of houses, and Hermione Granger. Ron could be seen sitting on a bed just beyond the curtain's edge.

"How are you boys feeling?" The Headmaster inquired, stepping inside the portioned off space.

"Fine, Headmaster." Harry said.

"As well as can be expected." Malfoy returned, turning to face the newcomers.

"That's all that can be asked for, I'm afraid." The Headmaster walked over to the window and stood beside it, while the two heads of houses remained by the doorway. Hermione, however, headed straight for Harry.

"How are you?" she asked him quietly, eyebrows puckered in concern.

"I feel normal, actually. I'm not sure I believe it." Harry shrugged. "Shouldn't I feel something?"

"Not you, _me._" Malfoy said with the air of someone who was speaking to the utterly dense. "_I'm_ the one that feels different. I can feel the connection that binds me to you. I know just how far I can go from you before it starts to hurt, I can even tell that you're disgustingly blasé about this whole thing. Do you just not care, or are you too stupid to really understand what this means?"

Harry bristled instantly. "Just who do you think you are, Malfoy? You don't have a monopoly on suffering. You aren't the _only_ one trapped in this spell, I'm stuck with _you_! So don't start getting all high and mighty on me."

Rolling his eyes eloquently, Malfoy did not deign to respond; instead he turned and pinned an implacable gaze on the resident Potions Master. "Sir?" he asked with determination laced throughout his carefully polite tone. "May I speak with you?"

Nodding stiffly, Professor Snape strode over to speak with Malfoy, raising a silencing barrier around them so they could speak privately.

"Harry, my boy," the Headmaster turned away from the window, but retained his distance, eyes dulled with sorrow. "I've had a rather large problem suddenly called to my attention, and I'm afraid we will not be able to punish Mr. Weasley as originally intended."

"What!" Harry yelped in shocked anger. "Why not? He _cursed_ me, Professor!" Harry flung his arm out in the direction of the red-haired Weasley who sat hunched over, as if to ward off a blow. "And he's turned me into a Dementor! He _deserves_ to be punished."

Dumbledore bowed his head, the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. "I know that my boy, and I am truly sorry, and if you had been any other person, then legal actions could be taken against him, but that is not the case."

"So you're saying that it's because of _me_ that _Ron_ isn't going to be punished?" Harry's eyebrows crawled up his face while his voice dripped scorn.

"Yes." Dumbledore paused, then stepped closer, as if physical distance was the only thing keeping Harry from understanding the situation. "You must remember, Harry, that the Dark Lord seeks your head. Even as we speak, I feel dark murmurs in the underground that tell of a slow gathering of ill will aimed against you. I have no doubt that they refer to Lord Voldemort." He turned to the side and looked at the privacy ward surrounding the two Slytherins before continuing. "You must know that this situation puts you at a distinct disadvantage and no one must find out about it."

Incensed, Harry opened his mouth to offer a sharp retort, but Hermione stretched a hand out and laid it against his arm, shaking her head mutely. Cocking his head to the side, Harry closed his mouth and considered the Headmasters words. _What happens to me if Voldemort finds out about the spell? It wouldn't be too hard for him to send a death eater inside the wards and have them steal me away. After all, they did that with the false Mad-eye just last year. And what happens if me and Malfoy are forced to go beyond the limits of the spell? Past where he starts to scream? _

"Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes?"

"What are the exact limits of this spell? Madam Pomfrey said that it was a few feet, but not how many."

"Nobody knows for sure exactly how far the two of you can get from each other except for Mr. Malfoy himself. You'll have to ask him I'm afraid." The hair pulled back into a sever bun only served to accentuate the tight expression on McGonagall's face, as if she'd been asked to solve an impossible problem with two unthinkable solutions. Which one she'd chosen remained to be seen.

Off to the left, there was a sudden soundless explosion of magic that was barely contained by the privacy ward around Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy. The blurring around the two distorted further, going from a slight blurring of their shapes, to a warped version of reality, their bodies appearing to twist and bend in all kinds of macabre ways as red streaks of a malevolent appearance chewed their way down from the top of the ward. It settled down quickly, however, the red streaks fading away into nothingness as the privacy ward reset itself, the bulging, writhing edges smoothing back into the more placid blur. The whole thing took less then five seconds.

"Harry?" Hermione said, apparently unconcerned about what had happened as Professor Dumbledore strode over and entered the privacy bubble.

"Er, yes?" Harry asked absently, watching, fascinated, as Snape began making cutting motions with his hands, mostly aimed at the now blurred image of the Headmaster.

"Harry." She frowned at his obviously distracted countenance. Couldn't the he see that more important things were happening than whatever drama was going over with the Slytherins?

"Yes." Harry said again, eyes glued to the…glowing?…figure of Draco Malfoy. Did privacy wards do that? He didn't think so. Then what was that explosion? And what caused it? Maybe Snape…

Rolling her eyes, Hermione strode up to Harry, determined to get his attention.

Two quick snaps in front of his nose brought Harry out of his introspection and he glared down the length of the arm attached to those most annoying fingers until his eyes came to rest upon the annoyed face of Hermione Granger.

"Pay attention, would you? This is important." Hermione said irritably.

"I am paying attention." Harry said defensively, even as his eyes shifted past her head to focus over her shoulder at the image of Ronald Weasley sitting completely still on his bed, a veritable deer caught in the headlights of a fast-moving car. Harry could almost see the thought of 'maybe they'll forget about me if I sit still' flashing across his face even as he slowly slid his bottom off of the infirmary bed and slunk his way across the room, obviously towards the door.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded. "I'm trying to tell you something."

"What?!" Harry eyes snapped back towards Hermione. "I was paying attention."

"Uh-huh. Sure you were." Hermione said doubtfully.

Harry opened his mouth to deliver a retort. Perhaps in defense of himself, perhaps to tell of Ron's sneaking off. But at that moment, there was another soundless explosion from behind the privacy ward, and the red lines of malice were back, hissing and sizzling as they ate away at the magic of the privacy ward, dissolving them with minimal effort.

"I _am_ sorry." Harry heard the Headmaster say. "But if you could just give us a good reason to suspend you for a few days, we'll have more time to come up with something."

"A good reason? You want me to give you a good reason to smear my family's reputation farther? No. I'll give you no such…" Draco Malfoy's countenance changed from one of pure rage to one of cunning and calculation as he saw Ron's form frozen in the act of escape, fear and surprise rooting the red-heads feet to the ground.

Abruptly, Malfoy turned back towards the Headmaster. "Alright. I understand why you want me to do something, even if it makes me sick to think of what you're asking for. I'll do it, but I'll do it _my_ way, Headmaster. I'll not have my name smeared anymore."

As quickly as Malfoy's expression had changed, Dumbledore's changed even faster, going from open and pleading, to shuttered and suspicious in the blink of an eye. "What are you…"

"I'm going to get some honor back." Malfoy said with a self-deprecating smile on his face. Turning towards Ron Weasley, Malfoy marched past Harry, his face set in grim line.

"What are you-" Ron began right before Malfoy stopped dead in front of him, planted both his feet, drew his left hand back, and shot it out in a devastating punch.

Though he was a pureblood, and raised to disdain such things, Draco had always been an observant child, and a quick learner. Watching Harry land a solid roundhouse on Ron's left eye earlier in the day had taught Draco exactly how such a thing was to be accomplished, and the roundhouse he threw at the Weasel's right eye was just as strong and well-aimed as the on Harry thrown a mere hours before. It connected solidly, and the Weasel's head snapped back as he gave a muffled grunt, collapsing bonelessly onto the ground, instantly unconscious.

Lowering his arm, Draco turned calmly to face the rest of the room and looked the Headmaster straight in the eye. "I do believe I've just assaulted another student without provocation Headmaster. Whatever will you do?"

Professor Dumbledore eyed Draco for a long moment before responding. "I'm afraid that I'll have to suspend you for a week Mr. Malfoy. After all, extenuating circumstances not withstanding, you just knocked another student unconscious. A student who has already had his nose broken once today. It is terribly unfortunate for you that Madam Pompfrey is low on some of her potions. You will be assigned to the infirmary for the duration of your suspension to brew the necessary concoctions for her. Good day."

Turning on his heel smartly, Dumbledore nodded coolly at a flabbergasted Hermione and Harry, raised an eyebrow at Madam Pompfrey, who incidentally nodded back, and swept out of the Infirmary, Professors McGonagall and Snape attached to his shirt-tails.

ooOO00OOoo

Lookit! Lookit! I'm alive! In my defense, I've got about thirty five days before I get married and I'm just a _little _stressed out. (If that isn't the understatement of the century, I don't know what is.) And besides, do you know how _expensive_ computers are? I was without one for a while since some a-hole stole my other one. But you don't care about my sob stories. Hope this chapter was good enough to tie you over until the next one. Tootles!


	15. Aftermath

Chapter 15: Aftermath

"What about me?" Harry asked in confusion as the door swung shut. "If Malfoy can't leave the infirmary, doesn't that mean that I can't either?"

"Of course it does, dear." Madam Pomfrey said, before heaving a long-suffering sigh and shuffling over to Ron's once-again prone form. One mumbled _levicorpus_ later, she'd maneuvered him onto the bed and cast a spell to keep the pooling blood from damaging his eye. "You two are linked after all."

"Yes, thank you, I _know_ that," Harry said snidely.

"Don't use that tone with me, Mr. Potter." Pomfrey looked over her shoulder at him sharply. "I realize you've had your life turned upside down, but that does not entitle you to speak to me like that."

"Er, Sorry Madam Pomfrey," Harry said softly.

"Don't worry, Harry," Hermione put in, delicately touching Harry's arm with the very tips of two fingers. "They're trying to work something out now, I'm sure of it. They want to keep this thing a secret. It makes you both very vulnerable right now."

"I know," Harry sighed, and glanced over at Malfoy who was standing, very stiffly, ten feet away; back to the room. "But, I just don't see how they'll be able to do that. How do they plan on hiding the fact that I can't go very far from Prince Charming? We aren't even in the same house."

"I don't know." Hermione shook her head. "But, I'm going to the library to see if I can find some reference to this spell that Weasley put you under."

"All right. Thanks Hermione," Harry said softly, his gaze wandering, once again, to the lone figure across the room.

"Just try not to kill each other, okay?" Hermione asked, with the smallest quirk to her mouth showing just how likely she thought that was, despite the circumstances.

"Of course not," Harry said eyes wide with innocence.

Hermione snorted and left the Infirmary, snagging her satchel of books on the way out.

Across the room the Mediwitch tending to Ron Weasley tsk'd and shook her head. "It seems that Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter have done a number on you Mr. Weasley. You're going to need some professional help." Shaking her head in exaggerated concern, she pulled the curtains around the bed and cast a privacy charm that, by chance, separated Harry and Draco from the rest of the Infirmary, it's walls were so large.

ooOO00OOoo

Behind him, Draco could feel the privacy ward go up, and knew that the Mediwitch was tactfully giving them time to talk away from prying eyes. How much they would get was up for grabs, but they were, for the moment, alone; _just_ what Draco wanted.

"Malfoy?" He heard Scarhead ask from behind him. "Um, I wanted to ask you…how far apart can we go?"

_Huh,_ Draco thought, _a reasonably intelligent question from the brat-who-lived. Impressive. I wonder if it came from a random collision of his two brain cells?_

"Malfoy?"

_I am Malfoy. I am _the _Malfoy now. Father is worse than dead, and Mother…_ Draco trailed off. Even in his thoughts, he couldn't say it, couldn't think it. He shook his head, determined. _Mother committed suicide today. Her letter said that she couldn't live without Father, especially since he 'still existed in the world and was forever beyond her reach.' So she went out the same as her favorite historical woman of power. Of course, Mother could have chosen a more painless way of dieing than the bite of an asp, but she was such a romantic creature, and always admired the strength it took Cleopatra to do that. _Fresh pain lanced his heart, just another slow-bleeding wound in the fabric of his being since Professor Snape had given him his mothers letter behind the privacy ward. Draco hadn't meant to destroy the ward, but being bound to Harry _fucking_ Potter _and_ being made an orphan, was just a little too much for anyone to be asked to handle calmly in the space of a few hours. Especially when the Headmaster had said that they wanted him to be re-sorted into Gryffindor so that Golden Boy would have a reason to take him under his wing and 'show you around the light side'. Fat chance of that! Draco _liked_ who he was, a mixture of his Mother and Father. He was all that was left of them, and he had so much to do, now that his mother had killed herself. He was the only thing standing between the Malfoy honor and the dregs of society. It was already swimming in mud from the fates of his parents. He _would not_ allow it to be damaged any further.

The phantom finger began to poke Draco in the chest, and he looked up alertly. Where was Scar face? Turning to find him, Draco was suddenly, and violently, incapacitated by sharp pain that radiated from the center of his chest, where the finger had abruptly turned into a talon and dug into his body, seeking something beyond mere flesh and blood.

Searching for his soul.

Falling to his knees with a breathless gasp, Draco clutched both of his hands to his chest, as if he could catch the talon clawing its way into the center of his being and turn it aside. Instead, his fingers slid across smooth cloth and beneath that, skin that was suddenly slick with sweat. Curving his own fingers into a parody of talons, Draco ripped his shirt open and clawed at his skin, tearing rivulets in his chest where blood welled and began to flow freely and hotly down his stomach. Still, the talons bore down, and Draco somehow found breath to give a strangled cry of pain, his last ounce of thought lent to THAT DAMN POTTER BOY who had walked away and left Draco in such agony, hoping he would hear and return. For the pain had changed form, from that of a talon striving to get into his body, to a massive force that was struggling to get _out_ of it, and Draco feared the worst.

Letting out a last breathless cry, a strangled sound of lost hope and despair, Draco's mind tumbled into chaos, his mind and body a myriad of conflicting sensations. His sight began to dim around the edges, velvety darkness softening the edges of the world, while the center became strangely sharp, objects standing out to such high relief that he could have counted the eyelashes on his eyes, had he the brain power to do so.

Cool hands and a soft voice intruded upon the encroaching darkness, offering up the hope of reprieve from the pain that had become his world. Everywhere they touched him, his shoulders, his arms, the back of his neck; the pain vanished, becoming pools of serenity that spread throughout the rest of his body, eating the pain and leaving peace in its wake.

Eventually, enough pain evaporated in the face of Harry's hands, that Draco was able to unclench _his_ hands from where they'd dug into his shoulders and stretch them out as he cautiously leaned back to prop himself up on the wall.

Taking a deep breath, Draco carefully flexed each of his fingers in turn, making sure that he could maneuver them painlessly before moving on to each wrist in turn, and then his shoulders. By the time he'd gotten around to wiggling his toes, the deadness in his ears that he hadn't realized existed, began to fade, and he heard Wonder-boy's voice speaking to him in soft, urgent tones.

"_What_, Potter?" Draco snapped at him, shrugging off the hand that was still resting on his shoulder in what was supposed to be concern. "Do you have any idea what you just put me through? The agony? No, of course _you_ don't. _You_ aren't affected by this twisted cures, _I_ am."

Four-eyes stared at him from the other side of his impossibly thick glasses, his mouth mimicking the roundness of his lenses.

"Oh, _nice_ imitation of a fish there, Potter. Did your Weasel teach you that?" He raised one pale eyebrow to float majestically halfway up his brow.

The boy-who-should-be-dead lowered both of his brows to a crease, his eyes sparking irritation. "No. And what do you care? I was trying to help."

"Help? _Help?_ You call that HELPING ?!" Draco screeched at him. "You bleeding walked away! How, in the name of Merlin, do you call that _helping?_" his voice lowered at the end; calm, and full of menace.

Abashed, Harry rocked back on his heels from where he'd been crouching at Malfoy's side. "Well, I asked you how far apart we could go, and you didn't answer. I called your name twice and you just ignored me. I even walked over and tapped you on your shoulder, you barely even flinched!" He said defensively, even as he avoided the piercing silver gaze of the other boy. "So I figured that I'd find out on my own since you wouldn't even acknowledge my existence. I stopped as soon as you looked like you were starting to hurt."

"Oh, really? Then you _really_ need to work on your observational skills," Malfoy said scathingly, with an aristocratic toss of his head to keep his hair out of his face. Not that it would actually dare to fall into his face. "Because I was in pain for quite a while."

"No, you weren't," Harry said stiffly, a stubborn set to his jaw. "You were on the ground for about four seconds."

"I…what?" Malfoy asked, momentarily distracted from his mutinous train of thought.

"You were only on the ground for about four seconds, I said," Harry repeated mulishly. "It doesn't take that long to cover twenty feet in a dead sprint."

"_Harry!_" a soft voice cut across the silence as Malfoy stared at Harry with an uncharacteristically surprised look on his face.

"_What?"_ Harry replied, aggravated that they'd had so little time to talk. He'd been hoping that he'd somehow been able to talk to Malfoy about what they were going to do now that they were bound to each other. Their lives had just been rather severely restricted.

"Don't hiss at me, Potter," Malfoy suddenly bristled, his shoulders rising slightly, and his eyes flashing his temper.

"What? I didn't…" Harry began.

"_Why did you forget about me? I almosst got ssmusshed-ded by the humanss with the big feet, looking for you. You ssaid that you would meet uss in the Big Birdss Nesst. But then ssomething went wrong and I couldn't find you!"_ The tiny snake sounded very confused and frightened, agitation clear in his tone.

With a sudden sinking sensation, Harry realized that the voice he was hearing was none other than his very own familiar; a certain baby adder that was at the moment, very peeved at being left behind and forgotten in the Owlery. Turning around slowly, Harry could just make out the image of the little snake crawling its way towards him from under one of the beds.

"What is your problem now, Potter? You aren't hearing voices again, are you?" Malfoy's voice was strong and snide even as he stood unsteadily to his feet, using the wall behind him to brace his movements.

A little shaken at the correctness of Malfoy's assumptions, Harry only barely managed to whip his head around and hiss at Serin.

"_Don't move, sstay where you are!"_

"_What?"_ Serin paused in his movements and lifted his head up a few inches off the ground in an indignant gesture. _"Why sshould I?"_

"_Becausse, there iss ssomeone elsse in thiss room with me and he can't find out about you," _Harry replied desperately. Never more glad in his life, that all words in parseltongue sounded like they were words of anger. Malfoy would think that he was only cursing, instead of pleading with a suddenly irascible snake.

"_Why?"_ Serin questioned again, his tongue flicking out in unhappiness. _"Are you disspleassed with me? Iss that why you forgot about me?"_ another flick of his tongue, this one a slower movement that left the tip outside of Serin's mouth so that it could wiggle up and down slowly, tasting the currents in the air. _"Do you not wissh for me to be with you any longer?"_

"_No, that'ss not it at all,"_ Harry assured him quickly, with a glance over his head at Malfoy, whose face had taken on a shuttered look. _"I jusst – don't want you to get hurt. And I'm afraid of what might happen to you if he findss out about you._"

"_Hmm,"_ tongue out, tweedle-tweedle, in. _"I ssuppose I can undersstand that. But if that really _iss_ the casse, you sshould treat me later for abandoning me."_

"_Treat you?'_" Harry cocked his head to the side in a curiously avian gesture. _"To what?"_

_"I'm ssure you'll think of ssomething."_

"_What-?"_ Harry began.

"_I'll jusst sstay over here till you can come get me,"_ Serin said, curling up at the foot of the bed, his eyes two glittering black gems in the hidden shadows under the bed.

"_Go ahead and do whatever, sso we can leave,"_ Serin lifted his head from where it had been sitting on his coils and rubbed it on the ground. _"It ssmells like death in here." _

Heaving a sigh of frustration and affection, Harry turned back to Malfoy, only to see him sitting in a chair and looking rather perturbed.

"Are you out of your mind?" Malfoy asked him, his question made all the more hurtful for the utter lack of scorn carried within it. It seemed that Malfoy truly believed that he was.

"N-no," Harry answered uncomfortably. Shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, he tugged unconsciously at the strands of hair directly above his right ear, right where Serin usually rested his head. Glancing guiltily back at the hidden snake for a brief minute, Harry abruptly returned his attention to the Prince of Slytherin leaning his chair back against the Infirmary wall, his shirt torn open by his own fingernails and blood still dripping slowly from the wounds. "Dammit, Malfoy!" Harry cried irritably, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "Now Madam Pomfrey is going to blame me for those clawmarks."

"And well she should; it _is_ your fault." Malfoy grunted, pushing out of the chair and shuffling painfully over to the nearest bed and stretching out on it full length.

Sighing in resignation and irritation, Harry walked over to the curtain blocking Madam Pomfrey off from view and pushed gently on it, making the curtain ripple. The silencing ward was banished a moment after and Pomfrey stuck her head past the curtain.

"Yes, Dear? What is it?" She asked, kindly.

"Draco, um, hurt himself. Could you come take a look?" Harry asked, biting his lip in guilt.

"Hurt himself? How? You weren't fighting again already, were you?" She asked, breaching the barrier of the curtain and approaching the bed where Malfoy lay. "Oh dear! You certainly did a number on yourself. Why in the world were you scratching at your own chest so much it bled?"

"Because—" Draco started, fully intending to tell Pomfrey what had happened and then enjoying the show when she tore strips out of Potter's hide. Then, glancing past the Mediwitch, he looked in Potter's eyes and suddenly changed his mind. "Because my skin was itching."

"Your skin was itching?" Poppy lowered her wand and looked at the new Lord Malfoy, eyebrows raised high.

"Yes, ma'am," Draco said, looking her in the eyes solemnly. "It's been itching for a while so I opened my shirt to scratch at it better when the two of us were talking. I just kept scratching, and I guess I didn't realize how much damage I was doing until Potter stopped me."

"I see. Well try and pay attention to what you're doing next time, hmm?" She walked over to a near-by cabinet. Reaching inside, she grabbed a potion bottle and turned to Malfoy. "Here," She said, walking back over and handing it to him. "Use this next time your skin starts to itch so much and we can avoid making you bleed."

"Yes, ma'am," Draco said again, opening the cap immediately and putting two fingers into the thick paste contained inside. Scooping out a lump of potion, he brought it to his now-healed chest and smeared it over the surface, removing the 'itch' that had caused him to scratch until his chest bled.

"All right, if that's all, I have another patient to deal with," Poppy said again, pausing a moment at the edge of the curtain. "_Is_ there anything else?"

"No, ma'am," Both boys said in unison.

"All right, then," She repeated and disappeared behind the curtain.

There was a moment of silence before Harry turned towards Draco, who was buttoning up his shirt.

"Why did you do that, Malfoy?" Harry asked, puzzlement evident in his tone.

"I don't rightly know," was the soft answer.

"You don't know?"

"NO! I don't bloody know, all right!" Malfoy snapped.

"Fine! Geeze!" Harry returned, angrily.

Again, there was a pause when Malfoy didn't respond in anger, simply finished buttoning his shirt and then stretched back out on the bed and threw an arm over his eyes.

Eyeing the other boy suspiciously, Harry turned towards his familiar still hiding under the foot of a nearby bed.

"_Sserin?"_ Harry said softly, sitting down next to the bed.

"_Yess, Wizard-mine?"_ Serin said, softly.

"_You can come out now."_

Lowering a hand, to the ground, Harry scooped up his familiar when he crawled out of the darkness, and held him close to his body. _"I'm ssorry, Sserin. I didn't purpossefully abandon you in the_ _Big Birdss Nesst. Me and the One That Knowss were attacked by…" _Harry paused. Having never talked to Serin about Ron before, they had not come up with a name for him in parseltongue, and Harry knew from his experience on the train that trying to say 'Ron' or 'Hermione' in parseltongue only resulted in him saying it in English. _"…we were attacked by Blood-Fur." _

"_Blood-Fur? What did he do?" _Serin asked, rubbing his chin gently against the palm of Harry's hand.

_"He threw Magic at uss that wass meant to make the two of them matess. But I interfered and casst the magic away from the One That Knowss. Unfortunately, it bounced off of me and hit that boy over there."_ Harry raised Serin up and showed him Malfoy, who appeared to now be asleep. _"Sso now, insstead of the One That Knowss, and Blood Fur being matess—"_

_"Now you two are,"_ Serin finished for him.

_"Uh, well… Not exactly,"_ Harry said, embarrassed.

_"You aren't?"_ Serin raised his head in inquiry.

_"No."_

_"Why not? If it had hit the One That Knows and Blood-Fur, they would have been matess, yess?"_ Serin asked.

_"Well, yess,"_ Harry squirmed.

_"Then if it hit you and that boy, why aren't the two of you matess?"_ Serin asked.

_"Well, because…we… well, we jusst aren't,"_ Harry said in exasperation.

Serin shaped his neck in a peculiar 's' shape that seemed to be a shrug. _"Ssuit yoursself, but it sseemss to me that the two of you are matess."_ More softly, so that Harry almost didn't hear him, he said, _"Ssilly human."_

Sighing to himself, and rolling his eyes, Harry continued, _"That'ss not the point of thiss sstory."_

_"No?"_ Serin curled up on his hand once more and looked at his wizard.

_"No. The point iss that thiss magic—"_

_"Mating."_

Harry clenched his teeth tightly together for a moment. _"MAGIC created a bond between uss that will not let uss leave each other."_

_"'Won't let you leave'?"_ Serin cocked his head to the side, _"What doess that mean?"_

_"It meanss that we can only go sso far from each other before he getss hurt. The magic punisshess him for trying to leave me,"_ Harry explained.

_"What about you?"_ Serin asked, concerned, _"Do you get punisshed?"_

_"No, which iss a good thing."_ Harry glanced at the sleeping boy on the bed. _"Though I'm beginning to think that he may be punisshed enough for the both of uss. What he goess through is horrible. I may not like him, but he doessn't desserve thiss."_

_"You don't like him?"_

_"No. Not one bit. He'ss rich and arrogant, and jusst downright mean. I don't like being around him, all he doess iss make me mad. I'm not ssure we'll be able to get through thiss without killing each other. But the alternative iss mind-numbing."_ Harry rubbed his forehead with his free hand. It was still very difficult to understand and even believe what had happened. If it weren't for the pain that Malfoy had experienced not to long before, Harry would've said that it was a joke, a scam put on him by somebody hoping to increase inter-house unity. But it wasn't. The pain for Malfoy was very real, and seeing the other boy go though the agony had forcibly reminded Harry of the pain of the cruciatus that the Dark Lord had cast on him. Which is why he decided to do everything in his power to avoid causing the other boy pain. Agony like that went beyond mere words and certainly beyond the childhood rivalry the two of them had going. Not that Harry was suddenly going to be nice to Malfoy. He just wasn't going to walk too far away from him.

_"What iss the alternative?"_ Serin asked softly, rubbing his scales together to create a soft, rustling sound that Harry found soothing.

_"Death, destruction, and madness."_

There was a soft pause in which Harry's familiar absorbed that information. Then he slithered out of Harry's palm and around his wrist, which he wrapped around in an embrace. _"I will help you, wizard-mine, any way that I can. And so will the Other. Sshe likess you very much."_

Harry smiled softly. _"I know sshe does. I'm glad that I have the both of you, ssince Blood-Fur iss no longer going to be my friend."_

_"What about the One That Knowss?"_

_"Sshe's sstill going to be my friend, but I don't know how things will turn out, ssince me and the other boy cannot leave each other. It will make the other humans very ssusspiciouss of uss. We've never sspent much time around each other. And when we were together, it wass only to fight."_ Harry rubbed his forehead again in frustration. He was getting a headache, and it seemed to be spawned by the situation he was in. What were they going to do about this?

_"Trust in Old Wise Fur, he will think of ssomething."_

_"I ssure hope sso, Sserin. I ssure hope sso."_

Lapsing into a comfortable silence, Harry began to softly stroke his familiar's scales again, reveling in their soft feel, as well as the pleasurable sounds the tiny adder made.

Harry had never been very good at waiting; he usually used his music to pass the time. But for the life of him, he couldn't think of anything to sing. His life just sucked too much right now. It was just one of those days. Inspiration suddenly struck, and he remembered a song about it being 'one of those days.' Harry racked his brain for a moment until he thought he remembered the words; then he began to sing softly, but with feeling:

** It's just one of those days, when everything is ****fucked;**** everybody ****sucks;**** and you don't really know why, but you want to justify, ****ripp'n someone's head off.**

**No human contacts, and if you interact, your life is on contract, you best bet is to just ****stay away**** motherfucker, it's just one of those days!**

**It's all about the he-said, she-said, bullshit. I think you better quit lett'n shit slip, or you'll be leav'n with a fat lip…**

ooOO00OOoo

Draco Malfoy lay on the bed, right arm flung over his eyes in an effort to keep the evil world at bay. He'd been able to ignore Potter's hissing, and had been almost asleep when the singing started. Considering the soft tone that Potter was using, Draco had been expecting a soft and sappy song about love lost or something else equally inane. Imagine his surprise when no words of love were forthcoming, in fact there were words of hate and destruction instead. What was the Boy-Who-Lived doing knowing a song filled with such anger? And the fact that he was singing it so smoothly with no sense of hesitation implied a rather intimate familiarity that Draco would not have guessed the Saint to have. And given the fact that Draco himself was unfamiliar with the song implied that it was Muggle-made. Imagine that, Saint Potter listened to hate-filled Muggle music. His last thought before he drifted off into sleep was that perhaps there was more to Potter than met the eye.

ooOO00OOoo

Well, here we go. Once again, here is a silly excuse session from the author about how she got married and allow a little thing like an, um, energetic husband get in the way of her writing. What can I say? I'm very much in love. And for about two months there, I just didn't give a crap about writing. Oops. Anyway, that doesn't matter. The song Harry sings, is called 'Break Stuff' by Limp Bizkit. Tootles!


	16. Nightmare

Chapter 16: Nightmare

Softly bringing his song to a close, Harry continued to sit on the floor, allowing the silence to seep into his bones. Glancing out the window, he saw the beginnings of the sunset and he got up. Replacing Serin to his rightful spot on Harry's head, he wandered over to the window to stare out at the sun, his thoughts peaceful, for the moment.

How long he stood there, simply allowing the sunset to absorb his attention, Harry was unsure, but as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the horizon, he heard Madam Pomfrey moving about the room behind him. For a moment, he was surprised, as he was unsure as to when the privacy ward had been removed.

"Harry?" she asked softly.

Turning around, Harry looked at the matronly witch, "Yes?"

"Perhaps you should go to bed." She gestured at the bed Serin had been hiding under, not long before. "You've had a long day, and you're due for an even longer one tomorrow."

"What do you mean?" Harry frowned, even as he walked closer to her. "What am I supposed to do tomorrow?"

"Well, Mr. Malfoy is supposed to make potions for me, and I suppose you are to do the same. Unless you'd like to help me empty the chamber pots?" She asked with a ghost of a smile.

"Er, no. That's all right. I'll…make potions if that's all right with you." Harry said, not quite sure if she was teasing him or not. Chamber pots? Did they really use those in the Infirmary? He'd always been either knocked out, or trying to sneak out, and had never been stuck in the infirmary for such a long period of time that it became an issue.

Poppy gave a small shrug, as if to say she'd been expecting as much. "Oh well. I guess it wouldn't have worked out anyway; you couldn't leave without Mr. Malfoy, and he'll be unable to leave his caldron." She shrugged again, but this one seemed almost hopeful. "Maybe I'll keep one of the hypochondriac students back tomorrow and make them clean out the chamber pots." She turned away, mumbling to herself. "Perhaps Mr. White? Or maybe Miss Savoir? She's always complaining of stomach cramps, but I _know_ she isn't pregnant, much as she'd like to be…" Trailing off, she continued to frown in concentration, as if the rest of the speculation was still going on in her head, even as she drew the privacy curtains across to form a divider between the space occupied by Harry and Draco, and the rest of the room.

Snickering quietly to himself, Harry turned towards the bed and began to slowly remove his shirt. Toeing off his shoes, he suppressed a gasp of shock when his stocking feet touched the cold floor. Deciding to leave them on for warmth, he slipped under the covers and lay back, sliding his hands up and under the pillow to lace behind his head.

Pulling the curtains closed behind her, Poppy gave a small sigh of relief. She was worried about that boy, his life had been so hard, she'd seen the physical affects, and they were terrible. Anything at all that she could do to ease just a little of his pain was worth it. And that smile and laugh had been exactly what she was looking for. Nodding to herself with a satisfied smile on her face, Poppy headed off to bed. Tomorrow _was_ going to be a busy day, and if she'd gauged those two's relationship right, she'd need all of her wits about her to keep them from coming to an unfortunate, and sticky, end.

ooOO00OOoo

Per their nightly routine, Serin unwound slowly from Harry's hair and slithered down the pillow and over his neck to curl up in the hollow of his throat. When Serin had first chosen to sleep there, Harry had been a little nervous, unsure if the adder would bite him in the middle of the night when Harry's nightmares struck, but when he'd admitted that to his familiar, he'd been surprised at how affronted the snake had become.

"_I will not bite my wizard!"_ he'd hissed, deeply insulted.

"_But what if I wake you up again in the middle of the night, and you're groggy?"_ Harry had asked, anxious.

"_I _will not_ bite my wizard, no matter how ssleepy I am. I am an Adder, the _King_ of Ssnakess! We would never do such a foolissh thing. Only the ssilly consstrictor ssnakess would make ssuch a ssimple misstake, and I am _certainly_ not one of _thosse_."_ The disdain dripped from his voice like venom from his fangs.

"_If you're ssure..."_ Harry had reluctantly allowed.

Serin had sniffed, still affronted, _"Very ssure."_

Now, Harry snorted softly in amusement at the antics of his familiar as he uncurled from his position and slithered down to Harry's stomach where he reared up, a full inch into the air, where he proceeded to look around, hissing into the silence of the room, demanding that any intruders show themselves and face the wrath of Serin! A minute passed, and then two, in which no intruders were discovered before the baby snake seemed satisfied.

"_Good,"_ he hissed into the darkness, turning around and settling himself once again in the hollow of Harry's throat. _"Ssee that you sstay away, I won't be sso forgiving next time."_

Harry strove to suppress the amusement in his tone, _"What wass that about?"_

"_Other ssnakess thought to get in and offer themsselvess ass familiarss to you,"_ Serin said with a sniff.

"_Oh? Why would they do that?"_ Harry asked, watching the rising moonlight cast their rays upon Serin's scales.

"_Becausse you are a Sspeaker, and to be bound to one ssuch ass you is a privilege._ _But,"_ he continued scathingly, _"to throw yoursself upon a Sspeaker who already hass a familiar iss common and rude. How dare they do ssuch a thing?"_ Serin twisted his neck about and looked into the darkness, as if seeing the snakes in question. Satisfied that they hadn't returned, he laid his head upon his coils. _"But do not fear, Wizard-mine, I am here to protect you."_

"_I ssee,"_ Harry said, smothering a laugh. _"You'll defend my honor from other ssnakess."_

"_Of coursse,"_ Serin said, _"It is my duty ass your familiar to remove other ssnakess from your pressence."_

"_Right,"_ Harry said, biting his lip to keep his tone somber. _"Ssounds like jealoussy to me."_

"_Jealoussy?"_ Serin said, sounding as if he'd been caught. _"No, why would you think ssuch a thing? Adderss cannot be jealouss."_

"_No? How about posssesssive then,"_ Harry drawled.

"_I'm ssure I don't know_ what_ you're talking about,"_ Serin responded, hiding his head beneath his scales and refusing to budge.

"_Of coursse not,"_ Harry said, and let the matter drop. So Serin was bossy, jealous, _and_ possessive, traits that seemed to flourish in the Slytherin House. Their animal was certainly well picked!

Relaxing into the bed, Harry's mind suddenly kicked into high gear, and he repressed a groan of frustration. Now he'd never get to sleep, with his mind running in all directions. It would insist on rehashing the events of the day, from the time he woke up in the morning and was harassed by all and sundry about Weasley's absence, to later that afternoon in the courtyard when IT had happened. Due to that damn redhead, Harry was now soul-bound to Draco Malfoy, and in a prime position to get himself treated like a rug, all over again!

A flush of irritation and anger crossed his features, and Harry hardened his heart. No, not again. Harry _was not_ going to be treated like a slave, or a simpleton, or a child. He may not be an adult in either the eyes of the wizarding world, or the eyes of the Muggle one, but in his own eyes, and now the eyes of the Headmaster, Harry had done, and seen, plenty of things that would have crippled a mere child. All of the responsibilities that his guardians had forced upon him since childhood had made him far more mature than he should be at the tender age of fifteen, and his childhood was now far behind him. _And now,_ he thought, determination thrumming through him, _I'm not going to let Malfoy try and put me down again just because we're suddenly soul-bound. He's not the dominant one in this situation, I am._

All of a sudden, realization struck, and Harry's mind reeled with it. _Harry_ was the dominant one, in this, _not_ Malfoy! Harry could walk as far from the other boy as he wanted, and there would be no repercussions at all, he wouldn't feel a thing. Malfoy was the one who would have to follow him around, unless he wanted to be screaming in agony. The pain was the one thing Harry needed to upend the balance of power between the two boys, and shift it decidedly in his direction.

Feeling like a burden had been lifted from his chest, Harry slipped a hand under the covers and retrieved his wand from the pocket of his jeans. Placing it, and his glasses on the bedside table, Harry put his hand back behind his head and allowed for a quiet moment of contemplation.

Harry was the one in charge. Not Malfoy. Harry wasn't the one to feel pain; that was Malfoy. And Harry wasn't the one who was going to have to change alliances in the war because of the binding. Again, that was Malfoy. A deep feeling of relief and satisfaction suffused his being and his eyes began to feel heavy. Things looked much better now than they had a mere five minutes ago. As sleep slowly crept upon him, Harry resolved to try and be nice to Malfoy. After all, it was the thing to do when confronted with those who are less fortunate.

ooOO00OOoo

Harry looked around himself, blinking rapidly. Where was he? The smoke curling about his body lent itself the feeling of fingers sliding rapidly up and down his skin, leaving behind a slimy feeling that would not ease, even as he scrubbed his arms vigorously with his palms. Shivering a bit, Harry took a step foreword, hoping to see a way through the mist. Even as he walked, he was unsure if there was a point, no landmarks were forthcoming, and he had a distinct sensation of walking in circles, despite the fact that the dry sand beneath his feet remained free of tracks. Every so often, a small rock and a few dry grasses revealed themselves, coughed up by the mist like a vile expectorant. Still, he trudged on; instinctively knowing that walking was no worse than standing still. At least this way he was doing something.

Gradually, the ground took on a different shape, and the mist thickened to an impenetrable fog, the temperature dropping so that his breath came out in a visible cloud. He could have sworn that the slimy feeling was becoming a physical presence that froze on his skin when it made contact before being scraped off by his constantly moving palms.

Glancing downward, Harry was shocked to see the sand had taken on a reddish tint, and he was unsure as to when he'd wandered into a desert of red clay. It wasn't until a pungent odor assaulted his nostrils that he realized the previously brownish sand was tinted not with clay, but blood.

Even as he realized the truth, Harry looked up to see the fog part, slipping away as if it had been waiting for the perfect moment to betray its treachery. There, laid out before him in all its bloody glory, was the final battlefield with Voldemort that he'd been dreading since he'd seen the Dark Lord's resurrection. Bodies were flung in all directions, some piled atop each other in drifts as if blown about like new fallen snow, as far as he could see.

Horrified, Harry was unable to tear his eyes away and his mind began to slowly process what he was seeing. There, to the left, was George Weasley, his right arm blown clear off and laying a few feet away, his dead body slumped over the equally dead body of his little sister, his twin was nowhere to be found. A little farther on, Harry could see Professor McGonagall, surrounded by a dozen or so black smears that could have been cloaks, or something more, but all he could see was her robes thrown up over her waist, and her legs sprawled wide. Apparently, she'd put up a fight, for her arms were broken in three places, and her neck was bent at an unnatural angle. The look on her face was not one that he could forget, full of pain, fear, and desperation.

Tearing his eyes away, Harry saw all of the members of the Gryffindor Quiddich team, huddled together in one of the snow drifts, looking alive, the bright red of their uniforms a striking contrast to the burnt orange of the sand below. Despite himself, he walked towards them, only slowly realizing what he was seeing. Harry saw that his team members had been stripped of all their skin, apparently while still alive, and it had been neatly folded, and placed into a pile of what he'd mistakenly thought was an oddly shaped pile of rocks. Even the skin over their eyes had been removed, and their lidless gazes pierced into his soul, accusing him for letting their torture occur.

Shuddering, Harry bent over and was violently sick, heaving up his insides in a spreading pool of vomit. Righting himself slowly, he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, eyes once again sweeping the destruction before him. Everywhere he turned, he saw someone he recognized, from classmates and teachers, to shopkeepers and ministry officials. Even the Muggle world hadn't been safe, Harry realized, when he made out the massive form of his cousin as well as a few students he'd known in middle school.

Slipping, almost gladly, into shock, he wandered in a daze, mentally cataloging people he saw, registering their identities deep into his subconscious. So many deaths. Off in the distance, Harry heard a distinctive rattling, gasping sound, and he took off running. Perhaps someone was still alive! As he got closer, the sound increased in intensity 'till he was sure whoever it was must have expired from lack of breath. Skirting around a larger than normal pile of bodies, Harry skidded to a stop when he discovered the source of the noise.

Huddled in a tight group, their indistinct edges blurring, Harry saw ten or more Dementors, gathered around a single, limp, form.

"Stop!" He called, hoping that he wasn't too late. Reaching a hand behind him for the wand he kept in his back pocket, Harry was shocked to find it missing. Patting his pockets frantically, he looked around, hoping it had just fallen out and was still somewhere nearby.

Glancing up at a noise, fear settled over him, wrapping about his shaking form and crooning in his ear like a lover. The Dementors had abandoned the slumped body and were now gathered around him, their dark cowls unable to mask the glee that was coming off of them in waves.

Giving up his search as hopeless, Harry collapsed onto the ground and wrapped his arms about himself like a child striving to keep the nightmares at bay, as he waited for the screams to start. When they didn't, he looked up in confusion, and was once again struck with the excitement the Dementors were exuding.

With silent words they encouraged him, telling him that they were waiting, that there were plenty of bodies left to infect, and plenty of joy to steal. They had time, as much as he needed, to finally step out of that imperfect shell and join them.

_Join them?_ Harry thought frantically, and with a flash of insight, he looked towards the other form, the one the Dementors had been gathered around not long before.

As if sensing the object of his attention, the Dementors parted, giving him an unobstructed view of the broken, mangled, and very, very dead form of Draco Malfoy.

"NO!"Harry screamed, denial strong in his voice, even as he felt a pain like he'd never experienced before ripping into his chest.

oOO00OOoo

With a wordless cry of alarm, Harry sat bolt upright in the bed, shaking uncontrollably. Letting out a ragged sob, he brought his knees up, and wrapped his arms around them, ignoring a hiss from his familiar as he barely managed to scoot off Harry's lap in time to avoid being crushed. Flopping his head on his knees, Harry tried desperately to control his breathing, counting to ten and back down a dozen times. When that didn't work, he slipped out of bed and began to pace, up and down the narrow corridor between beds.

It wasn't enough. Months of running full-out had left Harry with an amazing stamina that was coming back to bite him in the ass now. Even as he walked back and forth furiously, it was barely enough to make his breath shorten, and surely not enough to drive his nightmares away.

Glancing over at the sleeping form of Draco Malfoy, Harry gave in to the inevitable and returned to his bed. Scooping up his familiar, he deposited Serin on his head with a hurried hiss to _"Hold on,"_ And dashed over to the other boy.

"Malfoy," Harry said urgently, "Malfoy, wake up."

"Huh? What? Who's there?" Malfoy said, coming awake instantly, and looking around with alarm.

"It's me; Harry," He responded, a jittery feeling settling in his legs, he needed to run. Badly.

"Harry?" Malfoy returned, momentarily confused and disoriented before he understood. "Harry Potter?"

"Yes, it's me. Now would you please get up?" Harry glanced longingly out the window at the moon.

"Why should I?" Malfoy sat up in bed and crossed his arms petulantly

"Because…I need to go outside," Harry was loath to explain.

"Why?" Malfoy demanded.

"Because I do."

"I need a better explanation then that," Malfoy returned, not giving an inch.

Exasperated, Harry reached up with one hand and tugged on a few strands of his hair, carefully avoiding the spots that concealed his familiar. "Well you aren't going to get one. I'm going outside and if you aren't dressed and ready by the time I am, I'm going to leave you behind."

Malfoy's eyes widened at the threat. "You wouldn't dare," He said with certainty, thinking of a Gryffindor's soft mentality.

Turning his head sharply, Harry looked directly in Malfoys storm-gray eyes, and said softly. "For this, I would."

And Draco believed him.

Turning away, Harry slipped silently over to where he'd been sleeping, donning his clothes without fuss, and Draco understood how it was that the other boy had managed to get so close to him without waking up the normally light-sleeping Slytherin.

_Bloody Potter_, Draco thought with asperity, breaching the barrier of his blankets to stand on the cold Infermary floor. _Dragging people out of bed at…_ he cast a time spell. _Three fifteen in the morning?!_ He glanced grumpily at the other boy, who was quickly slipping on his shoes.

Donning his own shoes, Draco glanced up to see Potter standing a few feet away, shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to the other in impatience.

"All right, Potter," Draco said gruffly, irritated all over again at the late hour. "What is so damn important that you had to drag me out of bed at three fifteen in the bloody morning?"

"I told you, I just need to go outside," Potter replied with annoying vagueness, even as he began to walk quickly to the door.

Moving fast to keep up, Draco settled into a brusque walk, closely following Potter as he exited the Infirmary doors and took and abrupt left. Marching down the hallway, Draco's irritation increased when he noticed that Potters hands were shaking. _Bloody prat doesn't even know how to take care of himself. Would rather go out into the cold night air and freeze his balls off then stay in the warm bed. What if we get caught? _

Turning right, and skittering down a few steps, Harry entered the Great Hall and made a beeline for the door, looking neither left nor right. Placing his hands gently upon the surface, he pushed lightly, grinning when he felt the doors give without a sound. He knew from Hermione's sermons that the doors to the Great Hall were spelled not to open to students after the sun had set unless a teacher accompanied them, or were in dire need to leave. This kept students from sneaking out and snogging in the gardens or the Quidditch field, reducing the number of places that the teachers and prefects had to look. Hogwarts was a large enough hiding ground as-is.

Turning to the left, Harry kept close to the building and almost ran around the outside, a sob of relief catching in his throat as he saw open spaces where he could run and not the small confines of the Infirmary. Ignoring the grumbles and protests of the boy behind him, Harry headed straight for the Quidditch pitch. There was plenty of ground to cover there, without allowing him to get too far from the main doors. After all, he wasn't looking to get caught, and that could happen if he wandered to far from the entrance and took too long to get back.

Approaching the bottom of the stands, Harry made his way silently between the slats, almost smiling in amusements when he heard a metallic clang and a muffled oath. Apparently, Malfoys night vision wasn't as good as his own. Slipping out between the base of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff stands, Harry paused for a moment and looked about in satisfaction. This would work.

Here, he could run.

Taking a step forward in preparation for a good sprint, Harry was surprised to feel a hand come down upon his shoulder with too much force. Reminded instantly of his Aunt and Uncle of the too-hard-hands, Harry responded on reflex, raising his arm to throw the hand off, he spun around and settled into a defensive crouch, legs spread wide and hands upraised, lips curled in a snarl. He wasn't going to let them hit him this time.

"Back off, Potter," Draco said with authority, very annoyed. He hated following people around and he'd been doing just that for the last five minutes, with no better explanation from Potter than the fact that he 'needed to go outside.'

"Er, sorry," Potter said, standing up from where he'd been crouched like an animal ready to pounce.

"What the bloody hell are we doing here?"

"Nothing," Harry said, and then amended with a flush at Draco's raised eyebrow. "Well, nothing much. I just need to run a bit."

"Run?" Draco said in disbelief.

"Yeah, you know, same thing as a walk, but faster?"

"Cut the games Potter, what are you up to?" Draco demanded.

"I _told_ you," Harry said, exasperated with the other boy, his longing to run only increasing now that he was finally in a place where he could. "I'm out here to run, it helps me think."

"Think?" Draco scoffed. _"Think?_ Well, I suppose _you'd_ need help to think, but this is ridiculous. Why the hell did you have to drag me out here?"

"Because, dumbass, we're connected now. Believe it or not, I'm actually trying not to hurt you. But I won't give on this. I need to run. Now. Try to keep up, won't you?" Harry said sweetly, before turning back around and beginning to jog.

With a muffled oath, Draco did the same, cursing all and sundry for placing him in such a ridiculous situation. _I mean really, running around the Quidditch pitch at three fifteen in the morning!_

ooOO00OOoo

Harry woke up the next morning with a distinct feeling of relief. Finally, _finally_, he'd been able to run last night, like he hadn't been able to do in weeks. Even if it was with an annoying shadow at his back. Draco Malfoy, for all that he gloated about his 'handsome body' wasn't in shape at all, and five minutes of a gentle jog had left him with such a stitch in his side that he'd forced Harry to stop. But even with the interruptions, Harry had finally attained that sense of freedom that he'd been denied for so long. By the time Harry had called a halt, annoyed beyond endurance of the other boys whining, he'd finally been able to put his demons to bed, their silence a relief after that horrible nightmare.

Voices from across the room drew his attention, and Harry strained to make out the words.

"Aw, c'mon Draco. What's the big deal? It's just one ittsy bittsy favor," a voice wheedled.

"That is _not_ an 'ittsy bittsy favor' Zabini; that is, in fact, a rather substantial favor that would require massive amounts of time and effort to accomplish. Why would you even think that I'd be willing to do such a ridiculous thing for you?" Malfoy's voice was a mixture of amusement, disdain, and curiosity.

"Because then you'd have the entire school at your mercy. Every single student would be at your beck and call in gratitude."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really," came the eager response. "Just think of it, girls throwing themselves at you, blokes kneeling to you in gratitude, and everyone everywhere saying what a great guy you are. Wouldn't it be great?"

"No. It wouldn't. Why would I want anyone to kneel to me anyway? I'd much prefer them on their feet where they can get out of my way." Malfoy replied with a sneer.

"Draco…" Blaise wheedled.

"Enough!" Malfoy said, clearly exasperated. "Is this the only reason you sought me out today?"

"Well, now that you mention it…" Zabini replied slyly, and Harry couldn't help but open one eye just a crack to see the expression that went with such a furtive response. Sure enough, it was everything he expected, drawn eyebrows, slit eyes cast to the side, and one corner of the mouth raised just the smallest bit.

Malfoy's countenance instantly changed from mildly amused to wary and guarded. "Oh, no you don't. I've seen that look before and I'll not get caught in your net today. Whatever it is you're thinking, just forget about it, I'm not playing."

"But you might like this game."

"Frankly, I don't give a damn. I'm in no mood today."

Blaise broke into a grin. "Oh don't be so suspicious of me all the time, Lord Malfoy," he said teasingly. "I just wanted to ask how you were feeling. Rumor has it that the Tarnished Kittens had a bit of a spat yesterday and you got stuck in the middle."

"You could say something like that."

From where he lay, still feigning sleep, Harry tensed, wondering if he should 'wake up' to keep Malfoy from betraying them. Where was that famous Slytherin caution when you needed it?

Across the room, Draco was aware of Harry's deceit and even of the tension. _So he does have a miniscule amount of caution after all._ "Apparently, the girl broke up with Weasley and he didn't take it so well."

"Oh?" Blaise said, appearing to sit up and pay attention without moving.

"Yes," Draco said, answering Blaise's unspoken question about whether or not he was serious. "It seems he looked up a spell that was supposed to cause them to 'be together forever', or some such rot." The last bit was said with sickening sweetness. "Potter, hypersensitive git that he is, saw the attack coming and deflected it…straight into me."

Blaise gaped at Draco for a moment before asking in a strangled sort of voice, his eyes bulging "Does that mean that the two of _you_ are going to be together forever now?"

Draco snorted, and Harry relaxed. "Hardly. Weasley was far too inept in his spell work and he didn't even manage to say the intonation properly. All he did was send a blast of energy at the girl." He rolled his eyes expressively, "of course, it had momentum, and it threw me onto the ground, where I twisted my ankle."

"Yeah?" Blaise questioned doubtfully. "I heard that you ended up on the ground, screaming."

"And I suppose you also heard that Potter rushed over to me, after he beat the Weasel to a pulp, and professed his undying love for me right there, before I passed out?" Draco snorted.

"Well, Dara did say…" Zabini began doubtfully.

"Of course she did," Malfoy sneered. "You and I both know that half of the schools' population is absolutely infatuated with the idea that me and our savior extroadinare only fight as much as we do because we are trying to 'deny the love blooming between us.'" He pinned Blaise with a sharp stare. "And Dara is the worst of the lot. She's even gone so far as to start a bloody _fanclub_ about it!"

_A fanclub?_ Harry thought, alarmed. _For me and Malfoy? As a _couple?! The thought nearly made him gag, and he realized that he'd be unable to feign sleep much longer, after all, nobody would believe he was asleep if he was retching all over the place.

"I didn't know that she'd done _that_," Blaise said, wavering between amusement and disgust.

"Sickening, no? Anyway," Draco continued with a wave of his hand. "Potter did rush over to save the day, if only because Granger drug him over out of some misplaced concept of guilt and responsibility. Then the big oaf walked right over my ankle." He flushed slightly, as if embarrassed, "I might have made a _small_ sound of pain. And I suppose I _might_ have passed out." He flicked his gaze over at Zabini only to find the other boy grinning wickedly. Clenching his teeth together tightly, but fleetingly, over the self-deprecating lie he was being forced to fabricate, Draco continued, "I woke up in the Infirmary later and was told that Granger forced Potter to drag me here. After that, it's just a simple case of overprotective medi-witches and sleep potions."

"Well, it's a depressingly bland story for all the rumors," Blaise said, sounding almost disappointed.

"I'm sure. But then you know, the truth is often much less interesting that what the rumor mills say," Draco said with intentional irony.

"What about Potter? What's he still doing here?" Zabini gestured to the Gryffindors sleeping form.

"Well, he's in trouble for beating up Weasley. He's gotten himself suspended, so he's not allowed to stay in his dorm. Instead he has to stay here and help Madam Pomfrey."

"Oh, that sucks," Blaise winced in sympathy.

"I know, isn't it great?" Draco said with fabricated glee. "I might just feign pain so that I can stick around and gloat."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised. Oh well, I suppose I'd best be off," Blaise said, standing to his feet, and picking up his discarded robe and books from where they'd been resting against his chair. "Time to set the record straight. I'd hate to see what you'd do to the poor unwashed masses if they approached you with _their_ version of events." Even so, his tone of voice implied that he wouldn't _really_ mind seeing the young Malfoy Lord do his worst, especially since the gauge on 'Draco's revenge-o-meter' had jumped up several notches with his ascension from Heir to Lord.

"You do that," Draco said with a wave of his hand as Zabini left the Infirmary. "Get up, Potter, I know you're awake. I want a few words with you."

Groaning silently, Harry did just that, sitting up in bed and placing his glasses over his nose. "What?"

"I don't know what that was about last night, and frankly, I don't care. I just want to say one thing. Don't you _ever_ try and do something like that again," Draco said with as much authority as he could muster, hoping to make a dent in that thick Gryffindor head.

"That's nice," Harry said, unconcerned.

"Now listen here, Potter…" Draco began with a flush of irritation

"No _you_ listen," Harry said, standing to his feet in one graceful movement. "I'm the one in control of this situation, not you. I'm not going to let you walk all over me, and I'm not going to walk all over you either. As far as I'm concerned, we're going to have to make a lot of compromises if our lives are going to be anything but miserable, but this is not something that I will compromise with you over." He saw Malfoy beginning to say something, no doubt hurtful and scathing, but Harry just plowed on, "I'm terribly sorry that I drug you out of bed last night, but I'm probably going to do the same thing to you tonight, tomorrow, and probably every night for the rest of our lives. It's just something that you'll have to deal with. If it really bothers you so much to run, next time we'll stop by the locker rooms and you can grab a broom. But I _will not_ compromise on this Malfoy. Get over it."

Draco's eyes flashed, and he tossed his head in anger, "Get over it? How dare you say such a thing to me! I am Draco Malfoy, the L—"

"Oh, dear, not again. You two aren't fighting already are you?" Pomfrey said as she entered the room. "The days' barely started! Come now, you must stop this at once. It's a beautiful day outside, there's not a single student in the Infirmary this morning, and I'll not have you boys starting the day off on the wrong foot. Here," She said, pushing the both of them over to a small table that had been set up along the side of the room that was filled with food. "I brought you a little something from the kitchen. Eat up, you'll need your strength today, dears."

Overwhelmed by her motherly bossing, both boys sat down and began to eat without a word, neither one daring to make a pithy comment while she hovered so nearby. Even so, sparks were flying by the end of the meal as they wordlessly fought over everything from who would use the jam first, to who would get the last slice of bacon. By meals end, Draco was feeling rather smug, for while he'd had to wait to use the jam, the last of the bacon, eggs, _and_ breakfast biscuits had all made it onto his plate, and Potter had not been pleased.

Humming a little tune, Pompey cleared the table and laid a sheet of paper down. "Here," She said, pointing to the top, "this is a list of all the potions that I need, in the order that I need them. I'm completely out of witches brew, and have only two bottles of both the headache, and stomach ache potions. The dermis, and bone potions are next, followed by the less frequently used ones. This is a book that most of them can be found in. If you're missing a recipe, there should be some in the file card catalogue in the laboratory. It's through that door." She gestured with her wand towards the far end of the room and a door that neither of the two boys had seen before revealed itself. "There's a little closet in the back that should have all the ingredients that you need. If there's anything else, feel free to ask."

With that, she turned away, still humming her merry little tune as she busied herself with changing the sheets on the beds where they had slept.

Following her movements for only a moment, Harry and Draco's eyes met over the paper before Draco began to speak.

"Well. That's it. Come on then," The fair-haired boy stood to his feet, snatching up both the list and the book, and turned away, heading for the laboratory.

Rolling his eyes, Harry followed, amused at the side commentary from he snake.

"_I'm jusst ssaying that he hass a point,"_ Serin offered.

"_Yess, I undersstand that."_

"_Then why do you inssisst on running in the middle of the night when it'ss cold and wet?"_ Serin's voice was baffled.

"_Becausse that iss when I need to run."_

"Talking to yourself again, Potter? Not an attractive habit," Malfoy sneered from where he was flipping through the book, searching for the first potion.

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry said, not all upset. He didn't really care if he sounded crazy, talking to nobody in particular. He wasn't going to stop talking to Serin simply because nobody else could understand him.

"Well, get over here and let's get started. And don't think for one second that you're going to be the one to brew these things. I might need to take one of these some day, and I am _not_ going to drink one of your horrid concoctions." Malfoy shuddered dramatically.

Harry shrugged. "Fine by me. I don't like brewing anyway."

"Fine," Draco said, "then break-up some of these elephant pellets while I start the cauldron."

OoOO00OOoo

"Harry!" Hermione said, bursting into the room, "we've got a problem!"

"Hey, calm down," Harry said, getting up from where he'd sprawled, face-first into the mattress.

"NO, listen to me!" She said frantically, "Umbridge is pissed. You didn't show up for your detention last night and she's out for blood. I stalled her a little bit by telling her I thought you might be in your dorm, but she's bound to look for you here soon. The whole school knows about what happened yesterday, and they all know you've been suspended and aren't allowed back in your dorm. It's only a matter of time before she finds you've been told to stay here. You've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore, quick."

"All right, Hermione, give me a second," Harry said, rummaging through the pockets of his discarded robe. "Ah, here it is," He retrieved the one-way communication device. "Professor Dumbledore? Professor Umbridge is mad that I missed detention last night, and she's apparently looking for me right now. I've got to get out of detention, please help!"

"What's that you've got there?" Malfoy asked, setting the potions manual he'd been reading aside. They'd finished about half the list before Pomfrey stuck her head in and told them that was enough for one day, she didn't want them to run out of things to do before their detention was up. Since then, they'd both retreated to opposite sides of the room, having seen more than enough of each other to last a lifetime.

"It's a one way communication device," Harry said, tucking it back into his pocket. "Dumbledore gave it to me this summer so I could talk to him if I needed something."

"Hm," Draco said, noncommittally, before raising the book again.

Five minutes later, neither Professor Dumbledore, nor Umbridge had crossed the threshold, and Hermione was beginning to feel a bit sheepish for causing such a ruckus about…apparently nothing. Five more minutes, and the Headmaster finally opened the door, and stepped inside, his eyes sparkling.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, and," he turned towards the last person. "Dear Miss Granger. Thank you ever so much for your quick thinking."

"Oh good," Hermione said, letting her breath out in a whoosh, "So you did catch her."

"Yes. Thank you. The crisis has been averted." Turning towards the boys, the Headmaster began to speak.

"Well done, Mr. Malfoy, for a very skilled acting job. You've managed to keep the story close to the truth, while hiding all the necessary bits. Though," he added with a twinkle in his eyes, "I'd have preferred to talk to you about the story before hand, I understand your situation."

Draco nodded his head regally towards the Headmaster without comment.

"Madam Umbridge is understandably upset about your missed detention, and it took some rather fast talking to avoid her tacking on additional ones. But, this is how we stand: You, Mr. Potter, will take your second detention with her tonight at eight, and You, Mr. Malfoy, will take a similar detention, for your actions against Mr. Weasley, with Professor Flitwick. Don't worry," he hastened to add, when the boys' faces registered alarm. "Filius's office is the one adjacent to Mrs. Umbridge's, and you should easily be within the bounds of the spell, even if you are in separate rooms. Mr. Weasley will serve detention tonight as well for _his_ part in this whole debacle, but with our distinguished Potions Master. And his detention will start quite a bit earlier than yours. In fact," Albus said with a flick of his wand, "I do believe it's starting right now." His face was properly somber, though his voice betrayed his glee. "Tomorrow night will be the same, with your detentions being served in the appropriate places. Questions?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "Just one. Do you have a plan yet, as to how we're going to hide this," he made a vague gesture between himself and Malfoy, "from the school?"

"Ah, a good question that is indeed, my boy. And I am happy to say that we just might." Albus nodded his head vigorously up and down, the new, shiny star attached to the top of his gaudy hat twinkling madly in the light. "We will need perhaps another day or so before we've got the details worked out, but what we've come up with is perhaps the best solution there is. I'm just afraid that the brunt of the work of hiding it will still fall on you boys. But we're doing the best we can. I don't want to say too much in case we have to scrap the idea later, but it does seem promising. Any other questions? No? Well, I'm off then, plans and all that." With a jaunty wave of his hand, the Headmaster departed, shutting the door behind him with a soft click, leaving behind the impression of a gay, energetic tornado that just came in and buzzed about the room before sailing out the door with a smile.

ooOO00OOoo

Well, there we go, chapter sixteen, ready and posted. In record time, I might add. Hope you enjoyed the show! Tootles!


	17. Detention: Game

Chapter 17: Detention: Game…

"Ah, Harry Potter! Come in, come in!" said the Toad with glee. "Have a seat, why don't you?" she gestured with one hand towards the single table and chair that was set up in front of her massive desk.

Reluctantly shutting the door on Malfoy, who had stopped just out of sight, Harry suppressed a shiver as the sight of the innocent looking blood quill on the table brought back the memory of his previous detention with this woman. Clenching the edge of his robe's sleeves in his hands to hide their shaking, Harry crossed the room and stopped just short of the desk, not quite able to make himself take the proffered seat.

"Please, Mister Potter," Umbridge crooned dangerously. "Take your seat."

Frustrated at his inability to retaliate against this woman's cruelty, Harry did as he was told, picking up the quill without comment.

"Good," she chirped, her voice once again filled with sugary sweetness. "Lines again today, I'm afraid. The lesson doesn't seem to have sunk in quite like I had hoped." The Toad's eyes sparkled with maniacal delight. "Same as before; 'I must not tell lies.' You may begin."

Giving an almost inaudible sigh, Harry did as instructed, placing the quill to parchment, bracing himself as he felt the prick on the back of his hand. Clenching his teeth, he drew the quill along, the shape of the first letter etching itself into his skin.

ooOO00OOoo

Grumbling, Draco turned away from the door that had been shut in his face and walked with careful steps away from Potter. By the time he reached the door just down the hall, his nerves were strung tighter than a piano wire, and were just as likely to sing.

Twenty feet, that's how far he could go before the pain would wash over him. Had it been twenty feet yet? He turned to glance behind him, and saw the door to Umbridge's office a mere ten feet away. Shaking his head at his own nervousness, Draco squared his shoulders and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" called a cheery voice, and Draco did as he was bid.

Stepping through the door, Draco banged the back of his right hand against the door and felt a momentary twinge. Making a face, he rubbed the sore spot surreptitiously against his back and shut the door behind him with his foot.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," the small man across the room said with a happy grin. "Do come in. Have a seat." He waved energetically towards the single pathway carved between the mountains of books and papers stacked haphazardly about the room.

He began to talk as Draco made his way cautiously along, eyeing the stacks with mistrust. "How are you feeling? No ill effects from the spell? Dreadful business this is; never would have imagined the Weasley boy would do something so horrid. Yes, there you go, have a seat. Don't mind the mess, it's usually like this. Helps me think, if you'd believe it. There's method to my madness, though nobody else can see it, I'm afraid."

Still chattering on cheerfully, Professor Flitwick busied himself by making a pot of tea and setting the serving tray to hover in front of Draco at a polite distance.

Tuning out the nattering nanny, Draco turned his focus inward. Something was off. Going over himself with a fine-toothed comb, he was unable to find anything amiss. Hair? Perfect. Clothing? Immaculate. Sneer? (He curled his lip.) Functioning. Professor? (He listened to the mans words for a minute. "Minerva wanted me to actually give you detention, because you hit Mr. Weasley. But who am I to blame you for that? So, I told her no, and she…") Distracted. Then, what?

Rubbing the back of his right hand absently with his left, Draco pondered the situation for a minute longer, before his actions registered in his brain. Glancing down sharply at his hand, he was surprised to realize that it felt almost like someone was drawing on him softly, but with a sharp fingernail. It was a rather uncomfortable sensation. Without really thinking about it, he began to follow the path of the fingernail, tracing the lines with a finger. There was the beginning of the letter 'I', the middle line and bottom formed before the top bar was laid on like a cap, the sloppy curves of a lower case 'm', the empty bowl of a 'u', and the sinuous curves of the letter 's' followed by the rather sharp, cross-like form of a 't'. Following their path across his hand, Draco continued to decipher each letter as it was traced softly against his skin.

"I must not tell lies." He muttered quietly to himself when he'd reached the end. "Must be the lines Potter is writing." He gave an inaudible sigh when he felt the words begin again, looking up to find the Professor looking at him sharply.

"What is it, Mr. Malfoy?" for all the man's diminutive stature, he was blessed with an agile brain and keen eyesight that never missed anything in his classroom. Draco cursed himself for forgetting such an important fact; he couldn't afford such things, now that his mother and father weren't around to protect him.

"Nothing, Professor," Draco said, sliding his left hand around the rest it's palm against the back of his right, "please, continue."

"Oh, no. This just won't do. I can see that there's something on your mind, and it has do to with your hand. Normally, I'm all for leaving students to their own devices, but I'm afraid you've been placed in a rather sticky situation, and nobody really knows how this bond is going to affect you two. You in particular," he said, his eyes piercing Draco, "have much to worry about, as I'm sure you know. You shouldn't hide anything from us, in case it leads us to a previously un-thought of weakness in this spell. I'm not trying to pry, Mr. Malfoy, just help."

"I'm aware of that, Professor." Draco said, sitting slightly straighter in his chair, trying to ignore the pricking sensation in his hand. "There's nothing to tell. I'm afraid that's just an absent-minded habit I've picked up from another student. I'm ashamed to admit that I've been trying, rather unsuccessfully, to get rid of it for the last year, but I haven't had any luck."

"Ah, I see," Flitwick said with a smile. "My mistake. Sorry to pry, but you know how it is. Biscuit?"

ooOO00OOoo

Two hours later, Harry emerged from the Toad's office, shaking and sweating, cradling his right hand gingerly with his left. He moved off down the hallway a bit, before leaning against the wall and closing his eyes, taking deep deliberate breaths to try and release both the pain and his anger before either one got the best of him. When the worst of the shaking had subsided, he straightened up off the wall and opened his eyes to see an irate Malfoy standing in front of him, arms folded, foot taping out an impatient cadence upon the floor.

"What," he demanded, irritably, "was that all about?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy." Harry said, too tired to inject venom into his voice.

"No?" Malfoy spat, taking two giant steps foreword. He grabbed Harry's right hand and, in a violent gesture, shoved the sleeve of his robes up past his elbow. "Then what is this?" he snarled, dragging the back of Harry's hand up before his eyes where he could see the hated red letters already fading to white. "Nothing? 'Cause it sure as Merlin's balls looks like something to me."

"Leave off," Harry said tugging ineffectually, trying to release his hand from the other boy's iron grasp.

"No. I personally don't give one smelly thestral's ass about you, Potter, but when what you do hurts _me,_" here Draco pushed back the sleeve of his own right hand and placed it next to Harry's, showing the replica of the lines on his hand, "then I find it unacceptable."

"What?" Harry said, alarmed, grabbing at the pale hand before him, and snatching it back into his view before it was removed completely. "It cut you, too?" Harry asked, turning Draco's hand back and forth. "I'm sorry, I didn't think that it would."

"How touching," Draco sneered in defense, exceedingly uncomfortable with the way Potter was holding his hand, "the Savior is worried about my health. Don't be," he continued, snatching his hand back and placing it in his pocket. "_it_ didn't cut me, whatever 'it' is, I simply got a rug burn from the friction of something rubbing continuously against my skin. But," here he eyed Harry with a dangerous glint in his eye, "apparently 'it' cuts. Care to tell me what 'it' is?"

"Not particularly," Harry said, stepping around Malfoy and beginning to walk quickly away.

"Well, that's an unacceptable answer. Try, again," Draco took four giant steps towards the retreating Gryffindor and cut him off, his legs much longer than the pint-sized fifth year in front of him.

"No."

Draco raised one elegant eyebrow, "No?"

"You heard me," Harry folded his arms in front of himself in a gesture of defiance. "I said, _no_."

"Well, that's just too bloody bad. Because I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

Harry sighed. "Get out of my way, Malfoy."

Draco gave a truly evil smirk, "_no_."

Realizing that he was being taunted, and just as quickly dismissing the fact, Harry merely rolled his eyes and stepped around the irascible Slytherin in front of him.

"_Perhapss, you sshould tell your Mate what happened."_ Serin put in cautiously.

_"No, Sserin, we've been through thiss! I'm not hiss 'mate' and I'm not telling anyone about what that Toad iss doing to me. Thiss iss a fight between the two of uss and I'm not going to let anyone elsse interfere."_ Harry said irritably as he stalked down the hallway.

_"But…that is foolissh! You will not allow me to defend you, ass iss my right, and you will not defend yoursself. And now you won't even tell your Mate what iss wrong! Why?"_ Serin was almost whining, the confusion making his voice perhaps a touch sharper than he had intended when speaking to his Wizard.

_"Becausse it'ss my fight, that'ss why! Jusst…sstop badgering me about it, would you?"_

Taken aback, Serin did as requested and lapsed into a sullen silence, and Harry gave a sight of relief.

"You're doing it, again."

Harry promptly clenched his teeth together to keep from grinding them to a pulp. "Doing what?" he forced out between tight lips as he headed for the Quidditch pitch. He needed to run.

"Talking to yourself in parseltongue. Some people would think that you're trying to appear dark," Draco drawled from Harry's left, easily keeping up with Harry with his longer legs.

"I don't give a damn what other people think about me, Malfoy. And I don't give a damn what you think of me, either. Just stay out of my business, and I'll stay out of yours."

There was a short pause in which Harry thought that Draco had dropped the subject, then…

"Are we going to run?"

"Maybe," Harry said warily, slowing his almost run to a more sedate walk, "Why?"

"Because, I just want you to know that if we are going to run, you'll need my cooperation to hide it from Madam Pomfrey. And you aren't going to get that unless you tell me what happened." There was a definite smirk on Draco's face as he passed Harry up and continued on towards the Quidditch pitch. "What are you waiting for, Potter?" he called tauntingly over his shoulder, "the pitch is this way."

ooOO00OOoo

"Spill." Draco said, as he hovered on his broom over a sprawled Harry Potter. "I'm not helping you with Madam Pomfrey if you don't tell me what happened, right now."

"All right, all right. Just gimme a sec," Harry said from where he lay on his back on the night cool grass, catching his breath.

Staring up at the stars, Harry couldn't help but wonder how it came to be that here he was, having already shared the secret of his running with Malfoy, about to share another secret; the one of what his detentions with Umbridge were really like. He hadn't shared either one with Hermione who had become his best friend now that Ron had turned into such an utter prat. And yet, here he was, catching his breath while Malfoy hovered on a broom, his constant sneer suspiciously absent, as he gazed about the pitch with mysterious eyes.

"Ok," Harry said, sliding his hands up to cradle behind his head, his right thumb absently stroking Serin on the head. "Well, as you know, I've got detention with Umbridge for saying that Voldemort," here he paused, while Draco gave an involuntary shiver, _"Voldemort,"_ he said again for emphasis, "has returned and is alive, again."

"Yes, Potter, I know that already, move on," Draco said snidely. He didn't want to hear about what had happened in the graveyard that night. He'd seen the haunted look on Potters face when he spoke about it in Defense, and wasn't willing to share in the nightmare of the Dark Lord's rebirth. Others might be morbidly curious, but he'd had enough death and destruction over the past two days to last him a lifetime.

"Well," Harry said, unaware of Draco's thoughts, "I was given three detentions for my impertinence and I served the first one before we were…bound," he spat the word, disgust written over his features and overflowing his voice. "I didn't tell anyone what it was about, I see it as a competition between the two of us, and I won't let her win." Here he pinned Malfoy with a sharp stare, trying to say without words that the Slytherin was not to repeat what Harry was about to say. Too bad that Draco was staring off into the distance and was unable to appreciate the level five glare that Potter had just sent his way.

Harry sighed at the ineffectual threat. "Anyway, I showed up the first time and she grumbled something about my being late, even though I wasn't, and told me to sit in the chair. I was going to write lines." He screwed his face up in a snarl and continued, "I was to copy 'I must not tell lies' until my hand cramped, or the time was up. Either one was fine with her. So I picked up the quill she had provided, and, since there wasn't any ink around, I assumed that it was a self-inking kind. Well, was I right."

On his broom, Draco was beginning to have doubts as to how much he wanted to find out what was going on in the detention after all. Just with what he'd heard, he was able to deduce what the rest of the story was going to contain, but he was unable to stop Potter. It was like watching a Quidditch player get hit with two bludgers at once. Everyone sees it coming before hand, but nobody bothers to tell the poor sod, who usually gets knocked unconscious and falls off his broom, unaware of the fact that he could have been saved if someone had just opened their mouth. As Potter continued talking, he turned his head unwillingly and looked down at the boy speaking so frankly about his experience, seemingly reciting a tale that had happened years ago or to another person, not something that must have been painful, traumatic, and, oh yes, had happened two hours ago.

"I start by drawing the line of the letter 'I' because that's where the lines begin, and boy am I surprised to feel a cut on the back of my hand. I stop and look down, sure enough, there's this little cut running down my hand, and almost exactly like the one I'd just drawn on my paper. Shrugging it off, I draw the last two bits of the 'I' only to have it replicated on my skin. Surprise, surprise. This is indeed a self-inking quill; only it inks itself with the blood of the person writing. Now, I see how this could be useful if you're a Vampire and required to sign a contract of some sort with your own blood, but it's just a little ridiculous to ask a kid to write his lines in school with something like that. The Toad just thought it was funny. Said that she was hoping to 'make and impression'. Too bad the cuts heal up almost as soon as they are made, but at the end of two hours my hand was aching, even if you couldn't see anything. This time, the marks didn't fade as fast." He pulled his hand out from behind his head and studied the back of it in the moonlight. "They're gone now, but they might not disappear next time." He shrugged and slipped his hand back behind his head, tale complete.

"You're a fool."

"What?" Harry yelped, jumping to his feet, "You wanna say that to my face?"

Malfoy turned his head slowly towards Harry, hair glinting like spun starlight, while his gray eyes resembled nothing so much as the dark side of the moon. Harry took a small, involuntary step backwards.

"You're a fool."

"Oh please," Harry said, with an inelegant roll of his eyes. "Like you'd've done any different if our positions had been reversed."

"Damn right, I would have!" Draco exploded, his anger as violent as it was surprising. "Under no circumstances would I have sat there and allowed that woman to make me write lines _in my own blood_. I would have been kicking and screaming, making such a fuss that Merlin in his _grave_ would have come back just to tell me to shut up! I would not have sat there and merely _taken_ it like some low-bred mongrel off the streets! And to even go back a second time, _knowing_ what she was going to do; _just_ like a dog, crawling back to its master. You are a _pathetic fuck_, Potter, thinking that the use of a blood quill for lines is some sort of contest between you and a Professor. I don't know anything about Muggles, and thank Merlin for that, but in Pureblood society we call the use of a blood quill torture, if you even know what that means."

Instantly, Harry bristled, "Of course, I know what it means, you purebred piece of shit! And this isn't it! Voldemort held me under the Cruciatus curse last year. _That_ is _true_ torture. This," he held his right hand up and waved it around, "this is _nothing_, a scratch, an irritation at best. Absolutely nothing compares to the Cruciatus curse, and I'll be damned if I let you compare one to the other."

"You stupid—" Draco cut off his words, took a deep breath, and tried again. "The more you talk, the more certain I am that your mother's supposed intelligence did not pass down to you. My father used to say that she and Professor Snape were always fighting for the top spot with the grades, and that she was surprisingly intelligent for…"

"…for a Mudblood, you mean?" Harry spat.

"I was going to say 'female' but 'Mudblood' works just as well," Draco shrugged, a common gesture made elegant by his breeding. "You, apparently, didn't inherit any of either her looks or her intelligence. Seems all you got from her are your damn green eyes." Harry's eyes sparked, and Draco nodded in grim satisfaction that this time, he had Potter's attention. Now, he was _listening_. "While the Cruciatus curse is undoubtedly a torture curse, there are many different types of ways to torture a person, Potter, and just because one is more painful than the other does not negate the fact that they are _both_ forms of _torture_. Now," he continued, bowling over any attempt of Potter's at using the opening he'd given him, "while I've already said I don't give a thestral's ass about you, I've also said that I care a great deal about myself, and I have absolutely _no _intention of allowing you to continue with this stupidity. You have two options," turning his head ever so slightly, he observed the intense scowl on the other boys face, and he grinned inwardly. Nothing was so satisfying as playing Potter like a harp, "you can either handle this your own way, using whatever idiotic Gryffindor plan you can concoct, or you can do nothing and I'll handle it _my_ way. Either way, this foolishness stops right here. I will not be subjected to another one of your pity-parties while you sit and torture yourself, sure in the knowledge that somewhere, deep in your twisted little past you've done something horrible enough to deserve _that_." He made a sharp, angry gesture towards Potters hand, safely hidden in the folds of his robe.

"Now," he continued, dismounting his broom and sending it back to the safety of the Quidditch locker rooms with a flick of his wand, "we might as well head back. It's well past midnight now, and there's nothing we'll be able to say to Madam Pomfrey to avoid a scolding, but it'll be less then if we show up an hour from now." Turning smartly on the heel of his boot, he began to stalk off towards the Infirmary, hoping that Potter would simply follow him, instead of standing there. He'd hate to have his leash yanked so soon after he'd just managed a scathing put-down to Potter.

ooOO00OOoo

Following after Malfoy, Harry grumbled silently in his mind. Just who did Malfoy think he was, anyway? He'd never cared about Harry up until now, unless it was to poke Harry until he found a weak spot, and then to dig in. So, why all the anger and dramatics?

_"I like your Mate. You sshould listen to him more often."_

Harry groaned. _"Not now Sserin. I'm really not in the mood."_

_"Well, that'ss too bad,"_ Serin said with a sniff, _"becausse you'll jusst have to lissten, anyway. Your Mate caress about you,"_ Yeah, cares to bash my head in, Harry thought testily, even as Serin continued, _"and he wantss to sstop the Toad from hurting you, ssame ass me."_

_"Sserin…" _Harry pleaded ineffectually.

_"And,"_ the adder continued, unperturbed, _"he can do thingss I can't. He'll protect you when you won't protect yoursself."_ There was a pause, then Serin said slyly, _"didn't you ssay that you weren't going to let anyone walk all over you, ever again?"_

_"Well, yess."_ Harry said uncomfortably, knowing where the conversation was going, _"but I don't ssee what---"_

_"Yess, you do,"_ Serin said staunchly, _"and you know that we're right. That'ss exactly what the Toad iss doing to you, and you're jusst lying there and letting her do it."_

_"But,"_ Harry protested weakly.

_"It'ss okay, Wizard-mine,"_ Serin said comfortingly, thumping the tip of his tail against Harry's head in what, he assumed, was supposed to be a comforting pat. _"that iss what I am here for, to help you ssee the ssilly thingss you do. All we have to do now iss lay here and let your Mate fix thingss,"_ he said with satisfaction.

_"Wait, I never ssaid--!"_ Harry began.

_"It'ss okay,"_ Serin insisted, patting Harry on the head again, _"your Mate will make thingss better, don't worry. I know him, he ssmells like trust."_

_"He, what?"_ Harry asked, baffled.

_"He ssmellss like trusst. Just like the One That Knowss."_

_"He ssmellss like trusst?"_ Harry repeated doubtfully.

_"Yess,"_ Serin said slowly, as if to a small child. _"If a persson ssmellss like trusst, you can trusst them. If they ssmell like…"_ he paused, as he struggled to find a word, _"not-trusst, then you can't trusst them, ssee?"_

_"Er, not really."_

_"That's okay, Wizard-mine."_ Serin said with a final pat before settling in for a nap. _"That'ss what _I'm_ here for."_

ooOO00OOoo

Malfoy was, damn him, right, and the two boys spent the following day under Madam Pomfrey's sharp gaze as she kept them doing any number of awful jobs for her, none of which involved the remainder of the potions, but quite a few of which involved scrubbing innumerous strangely smelling spots off the ceiling with an old rag and nothing but elbow grease.

By the time dinner had rolled around, both boys were sweaty, tired, smelly, and very, very cross. Dragging their tired bodies up the hall, they had quickly showered and changed in the prefect's bath, taking advantage of the fact that no student would bathe during dinnertime.

Both Hermione and Blaise had stopped by to see their respective friend, and while Blaise spent the duration of his time in the Infirmary pleading with Draco to do him some unspecified favor, Hermione simply told them that she hadn't been able to find anything yet, but she was still looking. As far as she was concerned, there was a way out of this mess, if one looked hard enough. Any spell that could be woven by one person could be unwoven by another. She simply had to find the right pair of sheers.

Patting Harry on the shoulder encouragingly, and, giving Draco a sly smile, she had retreated soon after, claiming that she'd just had a lighting bolt strike her, and she must act on it, before the idea faded. Staring after her for a bit, Draco had said something scathing about Muggles and their strange sayings, but there was an undeniable undertone of longing that led Harry to the assumption that Draco just might have the hots for his bushy-haired friend.

Keeping such thoughts to himself, at least for the moment, the two of them had continued on their way until here they were, just out of the showers and scarfing down a light supper before heading over to Professor's offices for their detentions.

The walk to the offices was mercifully silent, but just before Harry raised his hand to knock, Malfoy reached out and grasped him by the wrist in a tight clasp. "Remember what I said, Potter. Either you do something, or I will." Ultimatum delivered, he released Harry's hand and walked off, slipping through the door ten feet down the hallway.

Giving a sigh and shaking his head, Harry brought his hand once more to the door and knocked smartly against the frame.

"Come in!" Called the sticky voice, just like before, and, just like before, Harry entered the room, closing the door with one foot and leaning against it momentarily before moving to stand by the desk, still unwilling to take a seat until instructed.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter." The molasses in her voice thick enough to smother a gnat, "I do believe that you know the drill by now? You have two hours, get writing. And if you haven't produced a sufficient length of writing in that span of time, I'll simply have to give you a fourth detention to encourage hard work. That's perfectly fair, wouldn't you say?"

Harry gritted his teeth, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Then I suggest you get started."

And Harry did just that.

ooOO00OOoo

Draco sat down with as much aplomb as he could muster, given the circumstances. It was hard to be graceful when all of the stacks of stuff around you were doing their own strange, slow dance. Looking up, he saw one stack that he swore used to be by the door, sail by and settle itself at his feet like a happy dog, even going so far as to wriggle a little bit in pleasure. To his left, the stack of papers with one lone red book in the middle that was parked next to Professor Flitwick's desk yesterday, seemed to be dancing romantically with a column of newspaper clippings, the two wound around each other lovingly; trading sheets of paper as they revolved slowly about. Glancing about him, Draco only saw more of the same, and he resolved to just not watch. Especially since there was a pair in the back corner that were shaking violently, and he was unsure if they were fighting or…humping.

Closing his eyes against the madness and locking his jaw, Draco brought his teacup (from the tea tray, which was the only thing that had remained the same in this mad room, even the desk had wandered off to play hopscotch with two stacks of research material.) to his lips, taking as large a sip as possible considering the tightness in his jaw.

Just where was Professor Flitwick anyway?

ooOO00OOoo

Lowering his teacup with a sigh of relief, Draco smiled a bit and looked across the room to the Professor, who was waving his wand about, a frown set firmly across his features. Chanting steadily under his breath, he deftly instructed each of the wandering piles to return to their original positions, save for the columns that had been dancing to Draco's left, and the ones in the back corner that had been…fighting. Those he lined up in front of him and, with two decisive flicks of his wand, separated them back out from where they had been trading…material. Patting one gently on the side as the four of them scurried to their proper places in the room, Professor Flitwick addressed Draco.

"Terribly sorry about that, old chap, but sometimes they get the wanderlust, you know? And since they know they can't leave the room, or they'll fall apart like so much melted butter, they make do with trading places. Normally they make sure that they reset themselves properly before a new day starts, but sometimes they get so absorbed that I must come in and set them to rights." Walking towards his detainee, he brought his wand up and banished the remains from his dinner last night before walking over to his fireplace. "I'd've been here sooner, except my students have the same problem, but haven't quite learned to handle it like I have, so every once in a while I have to go in and straighten things out. Consequently, I missed dinner and I'm famished, you wouldn't mind if I got a bite to eat would you?"

"Certainly, not," Draco replied, graciously.

"Ever so kind of you. I don't suppose you'd like some as well?"

"Some scones might be nice."

"Right-o."

When things had finally settled down, and the food had arrived, Draco took a moment to look down at his hand, and concentrate on what he was feeling. Sure enough, just as soon as his attention turned towards the bond, he could feel the soft scratching of the fingernail against his skin, this time sharper, and with a bit more pressure. Unsure if it was just his imagination, Draco brought his hand up to his face and peered at it, frowning when he observed very faint rivulets running through the skin, as if the nail had indeed scratched him, very shallowly.

"So help me, if he draws blood..." Draco threatened softly.

"Hmm? What was that?" Professor Flitwick looked up from where he was enjoying his meal with one hand, and flipping through the large pages of a tome in the other.

"Nothing in particular," Draco said, sliding his hand through his hair to hide its proximity to his face. "Just talking to myself."

"Ah." The Professor said before returning to his meal.

Five more minutes passed, in which the scratching didn't stop, but nor did it get worse, and Draco was beginning to believe that Potter wasn't going to say anything, he was simply going to allow the torture to continue, resolved as he was to simply 'grin and bear it', bloody Gryffindors. Then, a sharp prick on the back of his hand struck a nerve, and his fingers reflexively opened, dropping his cup, where it shattered upon the ground. Yelping painfully, he glared down on his hand only to see a drop of blood welling up in the middle of his hand.

"That's it." He announced to the room, and a startled Professor, "I've had enough." Standing to his feet, he fixed the cup with a casual flick of his wand and placed it back on the service tray. "I am sorry about this, Professor," he said with a disarming smile. "But I must go and save my stupid bond-mate. It seems like he's gotten himself in a bad spot."

"Indeed," Flitwick pursed his lips in thought. "Do you need my assistance?"

"No, sir. In fact, I think it best if you stayed here. I intend to return shortly with Potter in tow, greatly upset about something. I would be ever so grateful if you would harbor us at that time." He gave a small bow and winked solemnly.

"Hmm. Well, I certainly don't see any reason for you to continue this detention, you've learned your lesson I believe. You are free to go," Filius said, making shooing motions with his hands.

"Yes, sir," Turning smartly on his heel, Draco exited the room, softly patting the stack that had been wriggling at his feet on the way out.

ooOO00OOoo

Harry looked up at the sound of running feet in the hallway, but hastily continued writing when the Toad opened her mouth to say something else. That last comment had been a bit much, and he'd dug his quill into the paper, using the pain to distract him enough to he wouldn't say anything to make the situation worse. A few seconds later, there was a pounding at the door.

"Professor Umbridge! Professor Umbridge!" came a voice through the door right before the handle turned and the door opened. "Professor Umbridge," Draco said, sailing through the doorway before she even had a chance to step away from her desk, "you wouldn't believe what I just saw," he said stepping forward until he was even with Potter's desk. "There were two first years just down the hall, and wouldn't you know, they were…" he trailed off as he glanced to the side and saw Harry, anger surging all over again as he actually saw a blood quill at work.

"Merlin!" he cried, turning to look at the Toad, (Potter must have been rubbing off on him.) "Professor, that's a blood quill!"

"Hem, Hem," she demurred, stepping back and placing her desk between herself and the new Lord Malfoy.

"A blood quill! You are using a blood quill on Potter? Making him write lines with it?" he drew himself up, the Malfoy ring on his finger, and the eye on his tie flashing dangerously. "How dare you, a _ministry_ appointed teacher, use something as horrible as a blood quill against your students. This is completely unacceptable behavior for a Professor, even if it is against Potter, and I will see to it that the other Governors hear about this. Come with me, Potter." He said in an imperious tone, and Harry didn't have it in him to disobey. "You'll serve the rest of your detention with Professor Flitwick."

Tossing his head with an authoritative flick, Draco gestured at the door and Harry hastily scrambled to his feet, pausing once on his way to the door. Looking over his shoulder he got a smile of childish delight on his face, and he opened his mouth to say something stupid.

Draco cuffed him.

"Come along, Potter. Don't be a dunce."

"Mr. Malfoy!" the Toad called from across the room, having finally recovered from where she'd been gobsmacked. "Now, just a minute, Mr. Malfoy, things aren't what they seem."

"That is Lord Malfoy, if you please, and exactly how is it not what it seems?" he summoned the quill and held it up before him, showing her the trademark tip that allowed the nib to easily slice through human flesh. "This is, without a doubt, a blood quill."

"Well, yes, it is," She admitted, cocking her head to the side, "but I had a very good reason for using such a horrible device!"

"Indeed. And what, pray tell, is that?" Draco scoffed.

"Potter wasn't listening to a word I said. He was continually disruptive and disrespectful in my class. He even went so far as to say outright lies about You-Know-Who and that he'd returned from the dead! I had to give him detention, it was the only way to get him to stop spouting such horrid things," she whined at him, glancing up at him through her lashes in an effort to look coy, that only made her look like a frog that had been squashed by a wheelbarrow.

"And so you made him write his lines with a blood quill? Hardly a punishment suitable to the crime."

"I didn't use it immediately!" she objected, wringing her hands anxiously, "In fact, he's only been using it for a few minutes, regular lines just weren't getting through to him, I needed to make an impression."

"An impression," Draco repeated doubtfully. "Potter, come here," he commanded, waving his hand imperiously at the other boy.

Potter, for his part, held a quick, hissed conversation with himself before walking over, a mutinous expression set on his face.

"Show me your hand." Lord Malfoy demanded, and Harry did just that. Grasping the other boy's hand in both of his own, turning it back and forth, feeling a flash of amusement at the reverse of rolls from last night. "This," he observed, peering closely at the flesh that had been knitted, but was still raised and puffy, angry red marks scoring the skin, "is not the work of a few minutes. This has been going on for hours. You, Madam," he said dropping Harry's hand and turning the force of his gaze against the woman, "are a liar. And I've had quite enough of you. You'll be getting a message from the Governor's in the morning, good day." Turning about, the Lord Malfoy grasped Harry Potter by the arm and steered them from the room, his face implacable.

ooOO00OOoo

Okay, okay, I'm not stupid. I know that these double contractions aren't exactly words in the English language, but so sue me, you say that shit too! And I plan on using them to my little hearts content, so if they really bother you, I suggest sticking your fingers in your eyes and singing 'la la la' till the urge fades.

Other then that, you guys are _awesome_. Tootles!


	18. Detention: Set

A/N: I am evil, yes I am. I wanted to wait untill my beta's got it back to me to post it, but I just can't! Sorry!! I promise I will impliment all of the changes as soon as I get them! No, Really!

Chapter 18 Detention: Set 

"Ah, Filius, do come in," Professor Dumbledore called, summoning a pot of Earl Grey as his Charms Professor knocked quietly on his office door. "What may I do for you this fine evening?"

"Well, Albus, as you are probably aware, the last of our two boys' detentions were tonight and, I must say, something rather odd has happened," Filius said, entering the room and taking a seat in the squashy chair provided, nodding his thanks at the full cup the Headmaster offered him.

"Indeed?"

"Yes," Flitwick cautiously took a sip of the steaming tea, "Madam Umbridge, it appears, has been utilizing a rather decidedly illegal item to administer her detention to Mr. Potter."

"Has she?" the Headmasters eyebrows drew down into a frown.

"She has. And not only that, but it appears that Mr. Malfoy found out about it due to their…" Filius rolled his eyes heavenward, then dropped them to Albus's face, "predicament, and has rather dramatically put a stop to it. It is my understanding that you will quite shortly find yourself in search of a new Defense Professor."

"In-ter-est-ing," Albus said, drawing out the syllables. "Any ideas as to when this might happen?"

"Well, Lord Malfoy intends on sending a missive to the Governors no later than tomorrow morning, and expects an immediate reply. If things go as he expects, I would imagine that you will very quickly have a large number of very angry Governors either banging down your door to get to her, banging down the door of the Ministry to get at our beloved Minister, or both."

"Hmm," Dumbledore said, pouring himself a second cup of tea and absently nibbling on a sweet, "what item was she using against Mr. Potter?"

"A blood quill."

Fury rose in Albus's breast, making his heart race and his pupils dilate, his magic rising in waves in response to his anger. Closing his eyes, he slowly counted to ten, forcing his breathing into a slow, steady rhythm. Then he did it, again. And again. By the fourth time, he'd given up on counting just to ten, and he made it all the way to fifty before admitting defeat. He opened his eyes.

"If you would excuse me…" he said, and stood to his feet at Flitwick's nod. Heading for the phoenix perch next to his desk, he waited a moment for his familiar to hop up on his proffered arm, before disappearing through the hidden door that lead to his personal chambers, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Across the room, Filius Flitwick, Charms Professor, did not feel any privacy wards being erected, nor did he notice any silence charms being activated. Nevertheless, he had no doubt that both were put into place, as well as numerous others of their kind. When Headmaster Dumbledore decided to throw a hissy fit, which was admittedly rare, it was always done behind strong magical shields. He'd made a practice of doing so after one rather amusing episode involving copious amounts of Muggle household cleaning products, an infertility spell, three socks, something a passer-by had called a tire-iron, and a dead fish. Filius would know, he'd been there.

Setting his tea down, he stretched languidly in his chair, then stood up to go chat up some paintings.

This could take a while.

ooOO00OOoo

"That's it! That's just fucking it! I've had it with you, Malfoy! Here I am, Mr. Nice Guy, trying to get along with you despite our history, and all you can do is fuck it up! Stop trying to control my life!" Harry screamed, his face flushed, and his hand gestures wild and cutting.

"_I'm_ fucking your life up?" Draco drawled disdainfully, "Don't be stupid, Potter, we're both doing an admirable job of fucking each others life right now. We're soul bonded _to each other_ in case you have forgotten, which is just a general kick in the ass for us both. Don't you _dare_ try to say that _I_ was the cause for what Umbridge did to you. You managed that quite well all on your own."

"That's exactly my point! I got myself into that mess, so I should be the one to get myself out! You had no right to storm in there like some little Lord and take the detention over. Why she listened to what you were saying instead of simply slapping_ you_ with a detention, I'll never know." Harry reached up with one hand and tugged at a strand of hair, completely ignorant of the advice that Serin had been hissing in his ear since the fight had started not three minutes after they had left Professor Flitwick's office.

Now the fight had escalated, and they'd stopped in the middle of the hallway to hash it out, not a hundred yards from the Infirmary door.

"That's because I _am_ a 'little Lord', Potter. With my father's death, I became the Head of Household and inherited both his title as Lord, and his Governorship over the school. I went in there speaking as Lord Malfoy, Governor over Hogwarts, not as Draco Malfoy, student," Draco said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That's…" Harry sputtered, "That's just fucked up! How the _hell_ can you be a Governor over a school that you are attending? Aren't there rules against that sort of thing?"

"Sure there are," Draco drawled with a shrug, "they just don't apply to me."

"Well, why not?" Harry demanded, outraged.

"Because," Draco said, standing to his full height and uncrossing his arms, hitting Harry with his piercing stare. "I am Draco Malfoy."

And Harry had nothing to say to that.

Pausing to think about the situation, Harry realized that Malfoy really had done him a favor, because while it was true that Draco had done it so that he wouldn't get hurt anymore, the fact remained that Harry would also come out on the better end of this situation that he would have, had he simply grinned and borne it. Malfoy had said that he was going to write a letter to the other Governors, and Harry was actually beginning to believe that he would. Maybe he could get the Toad sacked, wouldn't that be wonderful? And that look on her face really had been priceless, when Malfoy had demanded an explanation for why she was making Harry write with the blood quill.

"That was pretty cool," Harry admitted grudgingly, "When you asked her why she was using a blood quill, and all she could do was stand there, and wring her hands like an old dishrag. I thought for a second that she was going to fall on her knees, and beg you for forgiveness."

"It was, wasn't it?" Draco said, almost with a bit of wonder in his voice.

Suddenly, the two boys grinned at each other; past arguments, and future living arrangements aside, for this single moment in time, they were in accord, smiling at each other over the fate of a person they both hated.

The moment passed, however, as Harry remembered his irritation at Malfoy stepping into his business. "But if you ever do something like that again, Malfoy…"

oOO00OOoo

Serin thought frantically, trying to find a way to stop the fight from beginning again. He liked his Wizard's Mate, he protected his Wizard when he wouldn't protect himself, but for some reason his Wizard and his Wizard's Mate did not get along at all, even when they were protecting each other. He didn't want them to fight. Fighting meant getting hurt, and if his Wizard's Mate hurt his Wizard, then he might have to bite his Wizard's Mate, and Serin didn't want to do that. He thought that there was a chance that the two boys could actually get along; hadn't they been smiling at each other a few seconds ago?

Slithering quickly through the forest of his Wizard's hair, he poked his nose out by his Wizard's forehead, tasting the air currents, and the emotions that rode on them. His Wizard was getting irritated again, and was going to say something brash. What they needed was a distraction, something that would catch his Wizard's Mate's attention so that he wouldn't listen to what his Wizard was saying. A flash of inspiration struck, and Serin hissed an apology to his Wizard, even as he hastened to carry it out.

ooOO00OOoo

Draco grinned goofily for a second at Potter, appreciating the mental image he had received of the Toad on her chubby knees, begging Draco not to send out a letter to the Governors. The grin faded, however, when Potter began to talk again, saying something about never doing it again, when his attention was immediately diverted from Potter, to Potters' hair. Or, more specifically, the snake that was crawling _out_ of Potters' hair.

_What in the world…?_ Draco thought distractedly, as he witnessed the unusual visage of a snake rearing up from Potters hair, to wave his body about, almost as if he was sitting up and cheering, 'Hello!'

ooOO00OOoo

"…and another thing, don't you even think—Malfoy, are you even listening to me?" Harry demanded angrily at the dazed and confused look on the other boys face. "Malfoy? Malfoy?" Harry gritted his teeth, "Draco!"

Draco snapped to attention, "Huh? What? What'd you say, Potter?"

Harry sighed in irritation. "I was talking to you, numbskull. Apparently you're too stupid to even understand what I was saying; staring off into space like Crabbe or Goyle."

"Hardly staring off into space, I was simply looking at something far more interesting than your pathetic little speech." Draco's eyes cut back toward Harry's hair, where the snake was wiggling in what seemed excitement.

"Oh, and what's that?" Harry asked with scathing disinterest.

"This," Draco brought up his left hand and brought it towards Harry's head, his right hand clamped on the Gryffindor's shoulder when he'd have moved away.

Harry felt a slight tugging on his hair, and was unsure what the other boy was doing until Draco brought his hand back with Serin wrapped around it.

"Serin!" Harry cried, reaching for his familiar instinctively.

"Nuh, uh, huh!" Draco laughed, dancing backwards and out of Harry's reach. "How about you explain this lovely creature?" he addressed Harry, even though the tone was a coo intended for the snake curled about his hand.

Harry folded his arms around his chest with a huff of annoyance. How had Malfoy known about Serin? "That's Serin. He's a snake."

"No, really? Are you sure? Because I thought he looked a lot like a dragon." Draco rolled his eyes at Potter and continued to gently stroke the snakes' soft scales. "What species is he? An adder, right?"

"Uh, yeah." Harry uncrossed his arms slowly, unsure of the newer, softer tone that Draco was using, one full of wonder and interest.

"Neat," the word was filled with reverence. "He's your familiar, isn't he?"

Draco lifted his head from where he'd been inspecting Serin, and gave Harry a look that he'd never seen on the other boys face, and it wasn't until he compared it with Ron's facial expressions that he could identify it: jealousy. Lord Draco Malfoy, Governor over Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and all around rich bastard was jealous of poor, unwanted Harry Potter.

It was priceless.

Harry felt a grin spreading that would split his face in two if he let it, and he struggled to keep it suppressed. "Yeah…" he let out a cough, in an effort to win the battle, "uh, yeah, he's my familiar. Got him this summer."

"So late? I would have thought that you'd have gotten one earlier; last year, or even the one before," Draco said the words softly as he watched Serin twine around his fingers.

"Well, I probably wouldn't even have him now if my…if Petunia hadn't been trying to kill him." Harry said, eyeing his familiar with suspicion. Just _what_ was Serin up to? Harry had already told him that he didn't want Draco to find out about him, and here he was, curled up around Draco's hand as if it was his own personal heater.

"Sounds like a story." Draco said, handing Serin back to Harry.

"It is." Harry gratefully accepted the snake back and he stroked him once from head to tail, eliciting a soft purr, before his eyebrows drew down and he demanded _"Jusst what iss thiss all about? How did he know you were there?"_

"_Uh, well…"_ Serin began distractedly, _"sshit."_

"_Yeah, sshit. You're in trouble," _Harry shook his head in irritation, his mouth a thin line, _"I _told _you I didn't want him to know about you, and then you went and reveled yoursself anyway! Why?"_

"_Well, you were fighting, and I don't think that you sshould fight with your Mate, esspecially ssince he wass only trying to protect you. In fact, he _did_ protect you," _Serin's voice was sheepish, and he bobbed his head back and forth in distress. _"I jusst…don't want you to be unhappy."_

Harry sighed again and scrubbed his eyelids with the pads of his fingers. How was he supposed to stay mad at Serin if he said stuff like that?

_"I understand that, Sserin, and to a certain extent I appreciate what you were trying to do, but thiss could make my life more difficult, not eassier."_

Serin curled up in a ball in Harry's hand, hiding his head beneath his coils, the picture of snake dejection. _"I'm ssorry."_

Harry's heart melted, _"Don't be like that," _he said softly, stroking the glimmering scales in an effort to get his familiar to uncurl, _"you were only trying to help, and you did, honesstly. We aren't fighting anymore, and he knowss about you now. Much as I hate to admit it, he would have found out about you anyway. I mean, we're going to be roommatess for the resst of our livess, there'ss no way I could have kept you hidden forever. And there are worsse ways for him to find out." _He wrapped two fingers around a loop in the ball and tugged gently _"Sso come on, come out of there and let me introduce you properly."_

Slowly, and with obvious reluctance, Serin did as he was asked, and uncurled his body from the ball, head coming up tentatively to taste the air.

Harry smiled. _"There you go."_ He looked up to find Malfoy much closer than he had been earlier, his head cocked to the side as he avidly listened to the exchange between Wizard and Familiar.

"What are you saying?" Draco asked with curiosity, all previous animosity forgotten, for the moment.

"I just asked him why he revealed himself to you, since I'd expressly told him not to."

"And?"

Harry shrugged, "He says that he didn't want me to fight with you, and a distraction was the best thing he could come up with."

"Well, it was distracting." Draco said with a grin.

Harry felt a thread of amusement slide through him in reaction to Malfoy's grin, and he cut it ruthlessly. He _was not_ amused by this, no matter how infectious Malfoys hither-to unseen smiles were.

"Yes, well," Harry looked down at his familiar for a moment before looking back up at Draco. "Serin, may I introduce you to Draco Malfoy; Malfoy, this is my familiar, Serin."

Draco smiled down at the little snake that had extended its head towards him in greeting. "Nice to meet you," he said with a little nod of welcome.

"_Likewisse."_ Serin responded, almost shyly.

"What's he say?" Draco's eyes snapped up to Harry's.

"He said, 'likewise.'"

"Neat." Again, the word was filled with awe, and Harry decided that he was becoming distinctly uncomfortable with the way Draco's eyes always returned to Serin.

Harry raised his hand and with a soft hiss, encouraged Serin to resume his hiding spot in Harry's hair. Once he'd done so, Harry removed his hand, and brought it down to his side to tug ineffectually at the hem of his shirt, trying to make it look better than the over-sized baggy clothes they were.

"So." Draco said, as the two began to resume their walk to the Infirmary, this time on much more amicable terms. "How'd you acquire Serin?"

"Well, while I was living with my Aunt and Uncle last summer, I was weeding the grass when I heard a hissing…"

ooOO00OOoo

Sitting down at the little writing table in the corner of the Infirmary, Draco glanced over at the occupant sleeping in the bed ten feet away. Harry lay sprawled out on his back, mouth open in a silent snore, while Serin curled up in the hollow of his Wizard's throat, in what had to be a defensive maneuver. Nobody would dream of trying to hurt Harry physically while he had the one and only poisonous snake, magical or not, on the whole British Isles protecting him. Now, magically was another matter. Draco drew his wand and cast a silencing charm around Harry. Putting his wand away, he thought _maybe now he'll sleep for a few hours before he drags me out for a run. At least I know my writing won't wake him up. If I'm lucky, his nightmares won't wake him up either, and I can sleep through the whole night for once._

Turning his attention to the parchment that lay out before him, Draco lifted up the quill and dipped it in the inkpot by his left elbow. Laying nib to paper, he began to write.

To: The members of the Hogwarts Governorship Board

From: Lord Draco Malfoy, Governor 26 of the Board

Dear Gentlemen,

I apologize for writing this missive so late at night, but something has happened that I feel must be brought to your attention as soon as possible. Madam Dolores Umbridge, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor who was placed in that capacity by the Minister of Magic, has been using a Dark Arts item against her students in their detentions. I came across this information late this night, as I was going to tell her about two first years doing something against school regulations in the hallway. I entered her office to see her giving detention to one Harry Potter. Possessing only a passing interest in the Boy-who-lived, I glanced his way for only a second, but it was long enough for me to observe that the lines he was copying were not only being written on the paper, but being etched into the back of his hand as well. Madam Umbridge was making Mr. Potter use a blood quill for the process of lines.

After removing him from Madam Umbridge's presence, I brought him to Professor Flitwick's (Charms) office where he remained stubbornly silent and refused to show his hand. It wasn't until I was bringing him to the infirmary that I discovered why he was being so silent. Madam Umbridge has apparently threatened Mr. Potter with expulsion if he dares to speak up about what she is doing, and he has believed her.

Consider this, Gentlemen, Mr. Potter has made his way successfully through the Tri-Wizard tournament just last year, even when he was four years too young to even qualify, on sheer guts alone. He is the personification of Gryffindor Courage, and yet, he is too intimidated by Madam Umbridge to say anything in his defense. How many other students, not possessing Mr. Potter's admirable courage, have fallen victim to this woman, and have remained likewise silent?

I realize that this is a very serious matter, and that I am bringing a very grave accusation against a well-respected woman of authority in the Ministry, and yet I could not keep my peace, for every word I have said here is true. Madam Umbridge is torturing our students right under our noses, and with Ministry backing. We cannot allow this to continue. Under regulation 16 as defined in Chapter three of the Governor's agreement with the Headmaster; I am hereby calling for a vote of no confidence against one Doloris Jane Umbridge for crimes against her students. May your decision be swift and just.

Respectfully,

_Lord Draco Malfoy_

Lord Draco Malfoy

Folding the letter up very carefully, Draco creased the edges and slipped it into a prepared envelope. Taking out his wand again, he cast a duplicating charm so that there were now 30 envelopes sitting in front of him in neat piles of five. Taking the original and keeping it for himself, Draco went over to the window and whistled six times, one for each owl that he wished to come to him. Moving back to the desk, Draco heard the rustling of feathers and he looked up to see the six requested birds coming in through the window to land gracefully on the footboards of beds.

"Thank you." He said, stepping up to the first bird with a package of five letters in his hand. "These letters are all the same, but they go to different people. You will be delivering your five to…"

ooOO00OOoo

Flopping onto his bed on his back, Draco let out a gusty sigh. _Well, the first part's over and done with,_ Draco thought tiredly, _now I just have to wait. _Casting a _tempus_ charm, Draco saw that it was now ten o'clock at night, and he grunted a little as he rolled over onto his side, kicking the sheets down to the foot of the bed. He'd get a few hours of sleep before Potter woke him up, and perhaps a few more after that before the sun rose and the damn birds on the windowsill began to chirp. He didn't honestly expect an answer before tomorrow morning, but at least he wouldn't have to wait for the message to get to them in the first place, like he would have had he chosen to send the missive in the morning. _Every little bit helps_ he thought drowsily. His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was that Potter had better be grateful for this, and if he wasn't, Draco would have to burn all of his clothes. _Come to think of it_, Draco thought snuggling deeper into his pillow,_ that might not be a bad idea after all, the things are atrocious._

ooOO00OOoo

At 8:36 the next morning, Draco was rudely awakened by the insistent hooting of a mail-delivery owl, who was perched on the foot of his bed. Grumbling, he flung an arm over his eyes and desperately wished for there to be more hours in the day. Just as expected, Potter had woken up about 3:20 in the morning and proceeded to drag Draco around the Quidditch pitch for an hour or so until he'd exhausted himself. Then they'd returned to the Infirmary where Draco could catch a few more hours of sleep. All total it had been about nine hours of sleep time, and while that was usually more then enough for him, the break in the middle to fly around in circles in the freezing cold, had made it much more difficult to fall back asleep, and the amount of time he'd actually spent unconscious was probably closer to five and a half hours, not nearly enough for a the pampered son of the House of Malfoy.

The bird hooted again, becoming more and more irritated with every repetition, and Draco finally sat up with another groan. "All right, all right, I'm awake."

With one last satisfied chirp, the owl finally silenced itself and shifted its weight around, spreading its wings a little bit to maintain balance as it extended one leg towards him, so that he could remove the rolled up parchment that had been securely attached to the jesses wrapped around the owls legs.

Removing the scroll, Draco barely managed a gruff "Thank you" before the owl had taken wing and departed out the nearby open window.

"Damn flying rat." Draco grumbled, sliding off the bed and padding tiredly towards the desk, sparing a glance at his bond-mate. Harry Potter was still sleeping, spread eagle on the bed, his mouth wide open, even though no sound emerged. Serin was nowhere to be found, and Draco assumed he'd hidden himself once again in Potter's hair.

Throwing himself into the chair, Draco untied the ribbon keeping the scroll contained and read the words within:

To: Lord Draco Malfoy, Head of Malfoy House

From: The members of the Hogwarts Governorship Board

Lord Malfoy,

We were most disturbed to receive your message late last night, and the information it contains. The possibility that our own Minister is supporting such actions is troubling, and we are very grateful that you have brought this to our attention. However, we feel that a member such as yourself, who might not even have the majority as of yet to join our ranks, does not have the authority to call for a vote of no confidence, and none of us are quite willing to do so solely on the things you have said.

Perhaps, if you had some solid proof that Madam Umbridge has done such a thing, we could act more effectively. At this point, however, we would be forced to hold an inquiry, and that would not be advantageous for Mr. Potter, or the other students who may have been serving detention with Professor Umbridge. Could you obtain some proof for us?

As for Mr. Potter, what are his wishes? Does he desire to call up charges against Madam Umbridge, or does he desire to let things lay fallow? We will be severely limited in what actions we can take against Madam Umbridge, unless he is willing to collaborate with us.

All of the Governors are in accord with you in that something must be done, but what happens now is in your hands. You must either acquire some proof against Madam Umbridge, convince Mr. Potter to place charges, or both.

Awaiting your response,

_Lord Conrad Albrecht_

Lord Conrad Albrecht, Head Governor

Nodding his head in understanding, Draco stood to his feet and walked over to the sleeping form of the Gryffindor who had started this mess. Everything was set and fine, Draco still had the Blood Quill he'd snatched from under the Toad's nose, and that was all the proof that he'd need, once he'd given his testimony. All that was left was to convince the boy-hero that going through the judicial system was what they needed to do to get rid of the Toad once, and for all.

"Potter," He called, standing next to the bed, "wake up."

All he got in response was a grunt and a snort, as the other boy reached down, and pulled the covers up higher over his body.

"Potter!" Draco tried again, "get up!"

"Ugh."

"Potter," Draco said, clearly getting aggravated, "If you don't wake up right now I'm going to do something very unpleasant to you."

"Ugh."

"Fine. You asked for it." Draco took his wand out an cast a well-practiced spell, making sure to stand far back as a liter of water appeared in the air above Harry's bed. Gravity took over and pulled the water down on the unsuspecting form below, dousing Harry, and one irritated snake.

"Agh! Damn, Malfoy, what the hell was that for?" Harry snarled, sitting up and shoving the wet bed linens off his legs with some difficulty.

"You wouldn't wake up."

"Of course I wouldn't wake up! I was sleeping, like you should have been! What the hell is your problem? Do you _normally_ go around waking people up by soaking them in water?" Harry was clearly not a morning person.

"No, I don't. But, as I said previously, you wouldn't wake up. And I wasn't about to serenade you awake as you must be accustomed to." Draco sniped.

"'Serenade'?" Harry said incredulously, "Did you really just use serenade in a sentence? God, you're hopeless, Malfoy. _Normal_ people don't go around saying shit like that."

"Yes, well. _Normal _people don't survive the killing cures either, now do they?"

At that, Harry simply snarled, eyebrows lowered and lips lifted to reveal the tips of his teeth. It wasn't _his_ fault he was a freak of nature. _He_ didn't know how he'd managed to survive any more than anybody else did.

Draco sighed, "That's not what I woke you up for. I need to show you something. Here," he thrust the letter that he'd written to the Governors at Harry, "read this."

"What is it?" Harry asked as he unfolded the parchment.

"I wrote to the Governors last night, like I said I would."

Harry's eyes scanned the letter quickly. "And?" He asked when he'd finished.

"I got this just now," Draco handed over the second letter, glancing up as a snowy owl flew in threw the open window and landed at the foot of the bed Harry was resting on.

Harry read that one as well, absently petting his familiar while she cooed contentedly at him, "ah, so they want me to press charges, eh?"

"Something like that," Draco confirmed. "It would be nice if we had some other students to back up our claims that she's been using the blood quill, but it isn't really necessary, seeing as how I still have the quill in question."

"Hmm, so this really just hinges on whether or not I agree to go along with this?"

Draco gritted his teeth and closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds. "Yes."

"Ok."

"Ok, what?" Draco asked, startled.

"Ok, I'll press charges."

"Just like that?" Draco blinked rapidly in disbelief, as if their opening and shutting could relieve him of the surprise.

"Just like that. I want her taken out of this school just like you do, I guess I was just too stubborn to admit that your way of going about it was better," Harry shrugged.

"Why the change of heart?" Draco asked, as he removed his letters from Harry's grasp and moved back towards the desk to write a response.

"Serin guilted me into it. Said something about poor Susan, who's a second year. She'd gotten curious about some of the contradictions in the book the Toad has us read and she'd asked a few too many questions, so Umbridge had given her detention. She came back late at night, crying and holding her hand." Harry scooted closer to Hedwig and began to work his fingers through the dense feathers on her head, "Hey, girl, how're you doing?

"Would she help us?" Draco asked, even as he lay quill to parchment.

Harry returned his attention to the other boy, "no. She wouldn't talk about it to anyone, and since it was her first night, it didn't leave a mark."

Draco turned and looked at Harry with a single eyebrow raised, and Harry was somehow able to interpret the gesture correctly.

"Well, it seems that Serin has taken to wandering around the dorms at night, and has been spying on what the other students do and say. Apparently it's important to him that he knows who my enemies, and who my allies are."

"Indeed," Draco turned back to his letter.

To: The Head Governor of the Hogwarts Governorship Board

From: Lord Draco Malfoy, Governor 26 of the Board

Dear Gentleman,

After receiving your letter, I managed to convince Mr. Potter that it would be in the best interests of the whole school if he would place charges. As for the proof, would the quill that she was using be proof enough? I had removed it from her possession that night, and it has not been used again. I'm sure that we could use a spell to determine the last person that it was used on, and that should be all the proof we need.

In case you are unaware, my mother passed away last night, having taken her own life. Before she did so, she emancipated me, making me the true Head of House in all senses of the word. I have the final say in all matters that concern the House of Malfoy, and I believe we have been bloodline members of the Board almost from its inception. Can you still deny me my full status? I am quite aware that it is an awkward situation for me to be on the Board of a school that I am still attending, but I have been well trained by my parents, and have no intention of using this power improperly. Most of my time here will be spent as a student, and the Professors here are of such excellent quality, that they do not treat me any different now than they did before I was a Governor.

I will keep the blood quill in my possession for the moment, for I do not wish to trust it to the sometimes-unreliable owl transport. Whenever you wish to relieve me of it, please, simply let me know. If there is anything I may do to help this endeavor on, please, feel free to ask. Many of my fathers' friends have passed their allegiances on to me, and I am not without resources.

Respectfully,

_Lord Draco Malfoy_

Lord Draco Malfoy

Folding the letter carefully, Draco rose from the desk and moved towards the window.

"Here, use Hedwig." Harry called out to him, gesturing at the snowy owl perched on the end of his bed. "She's more reliable then the school owls."

Draco had been intending to use his own personal owl, Hermes, to deliver the letter, but, since Potter's owl was already up here…

Draco altered course and approached the bird with the missive. "Here you go," he said softly. "This is to Conrad Albrecht. If you wouldn't mind sticking around for any answer that he has? It shouldn't take too long, I don't think." Hedwig hooted once before tenderly clasping the letter in her claws and flying out the window.

Watching her fly away, Draco couldn't help but comment, "Interesting bird you've got there, Potter. She seems more intelligent then the average owl."

Harry shifted about uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, "Yes, well, she's kinda also a familiar."

"Really?" there was a thread of disbelief running through Draco's voice, though the most of it contained interest.

"Yeah. I didn't know what I was doing when I bound the two of them to me, I thought I was just accepting companions." Harry looked down and fiddled with the ends of his shirtsleeves.

Draco shook his head disbelievingly, "Only you, Potter," he said, moving towards the desk, and beginning to riffle through the papers sprawled over its surface.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry's voice implied he could take offence.

"Just that." Draco replied, not turning around, "Only you, Potter, would accidentally bind not only your mail owl, but an adder as well, to you as familiars and have no idea that you'd done so."

Behind him, Harry bristled, his shoulders rising, hands clenching into fists, eyes flashing his fury. Just as quickly, though, he softened into a more relaxed position, as he accepted Draco's words at face value. What was the point of taking things as they could mean, instead of taking them as they were said? If they'd been having an encounter in the hallway, Harry's wouldn't have had any sort of problem taking them as the insult they could be, and the chances that they _hadn't_ been meant as some sort of insult would have been slim. But here, now, with this…thing…between them, Harry had every reason to take Draco's words at face value, even as Draco had every reason to mean them as such.

Sighing, Harry began to fiddle with his shirtsleeves again, once again thinking about how hard it was to keep the peace. Five years of endless fighting, insults traded back and forth on a daily basis, had conditioned him to always be on the alert when in this boy's presence. But now, now things were different. And as each day passed, Harry was only beginning to see how _very_ different they were.

Draco no longer insulted him with every breath, though there was a noticeable pause before he responded to something Harry would say, he was obviously refraining from saying whatever scathing cut-down Harry had opened himself for. And Harry, just as noticeably, refrained from goading Draco into saying it anyway, not allowing his natural curiosity to get them into trouble.

But it was so _hard,_ Harry couldn't help but think, to keep from saying something short and pithy. Malfoy left himself open just as much as Harry did, and sometimes it was just so _perfect_ that he would struggle for five minutes _after_ the moment had passed, to avoid bringing it back up just so he could say the cut down to Malfoy. Not that he hadn't known that life with Malfoy would not be easy, but Harry was just beginning to see how much _effort_ it would take, on both of their parts, simply to have a relatively peaceful coexistence. When he looked ahead of himself into the future, Harry only saw more of the same endless awareness of what he and the other boy were saying to each other, the careful choosing of words, and the equally careful ignoring of the possible double-meanings when they didn't choose their words carefully enough.

He wasn't sure he could do it. But what choice did he really have?

ooOO00OOoo

In southern Scotland, Conrad Albrecht looked up from his papers as his wife entered his office.

"Something just came in by owl for you, Dear," she said, kissing him on the cheek as she placed the folded parchment in front of him.

"Thanks," He said, opening the missive and reading its contents.

"Another something from Lord Malfoy?" she asked, moving away slightly to rearrange the books on his shelves, he was forever putting them back in the wrong places, and then he couldn't find them again when he needed them.

"Something like that," Conrad replied distractedly.

Smiling softly at her husband's response, Mrs. Albrecht simply kept her peace, waiting until he was finished to ask him her questions.

"Hmm…" Conrad's brow furrowed in thought before he got up and moved to a separate section of the wrap-around bookshelves from the ones his wife stood in front of. Lightly skimming the titles with a finger, he let out a small grunt of satisfaction when he found the one he wanted. Retrieving it, he returned to his desk and, glancing once more at the letter from Lord Malfoy, flipped to the books appendix before following the information there to page 682 where he found the spell he was looking for. "Well I'll be damned. Good show Lord Malfoy."

"What did the boy do now?" his wife asked him as she put the last of the books back in their rightful spots.

"Huh?" Conrad glanced up at his wife before focusing his attention on the book again. "Oh, he apparently managed to snatch the blood quill out from under Madam Umbridge's nose last night, and has kept it in his presence ever since. He suggested a spell to find out who the last person to use it was, and I'll be damned if he isn't right. There _is_ a spell to find out, in reverse order, who has been using a blood quill."

Across the room, his wife shuddered. "What a horrible object. I do hope that those poor children haven't been using it for long."

"They can't have been. The school year is only a few weeks in," He reminded his wife.

"Yes, but how many days is that? Or, more specifically, how many nights? A particularly badly behaved child could wrack up quite a few detentions in that time. Or, perhaps, a child that refuses to be silent on what he believes is the truth?" she said the last slyly.

"Now Dierdre, don't start that again."

"What if he's right, Conrad? What if there is something more to the fact that the entire Tri-Wizard tournament seemed to be nothing but a farce fabricated to get him into a vulnerable position? You can't deny that something unexplained and unexpected happened at the end when the two of them touched the cup. Poor Cedric Diggory came back _dead_ and there's nothing you can say or do to convince me that Harry Potter did that. He was quite obviously killed via the Unforgivable."

"Dierdre…" Conrad sighed, there was no stopping her when she got like this.

"I'm just saying Conrad, first that, and now this. We have a Ministry appointed woman torturing our students with an object that almost certainly came from the vaults of the Ministry itself."

"And the headmaster didn't make a poor choice himself? He allowed a known death eater to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts! How preposterous is that?" Conrad snapped.

"Very, and you know it. But how was he to know? He was impersonating Alastor Moody, one of the most suspicious men around. He has a known habit of only drinking and eating food that he prepares himself, and that is exactly what the imposter was doing. He even went so far as to _polyjuice_ himself. Headmaster Dumbledore is only human."

"Is there a point to this?"

Mrs. Albrecht shifted her weight backwards, stung. "Yes, there is. It's that you need to make sure you listen to Lord Malfoy. Hear what he is saying, and what he is not saying. Children know much more than adults do, they simply keep their mouths shut most of the time because they are afraid of looking foolish. There is one here who is daring to speak out, don't silence his words before he has had a chance to speak. And most of all, _listen to Harry Potter._ That boy is special," her last words were spoken with a sense of finality, "we will need them both for our future to survive."

ooOO00OOoo

After his wife left, Conrad shook his head at the foolishness of her words and settled down to write a response to Lord Malfoy. Before they had sent a response to the school this morning, the members of the Board had gotten together and hashed out what their actions would be if Lord Malfoy did possess proof and if he didn't. That made this part of the correspondence much more expedient.

To: Lord Draco Malfoy, Head of Malfoy House

From: The members of the Hogwarts Governorship Board

Lord Malfoy,

We thank you for your swift response, as well as its contents. The fact that you've managed to secure the blood quill is a very good thing, and welcome information. There is indeed a spell to reveal, in reverse order, the ones who have used the quill, and we have every intention of bringing this information to the Ministry's attention this very afternoon. Madam Umbridge will not teach another class at Hogwarts, or any other school, for as long as she lives.

We are sending a second letter to the Headmaster, instructing him to remove Madam Umbridge from position and bring her, and the quill, to the Ministry.

Thank you for bringing this to our attention, would that we had more students who were willing to look out for each other. Welcome, Lord Draco Malfoy, Governor 26 of the Hogwarts Governorship Board.

Gratefully,

_Lord Conrad Albrecht_

Lord Conrad Albrecht, Head Governor

Signing his name above the more neatly printed version, Albrecht folded the parchment and set it aside. Snagging another parchment from a nearby stack and bringing it closer, he dipped his quill in some fresh ink and began to write his missive to the Headmaster.

To: Lord Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts

From: The members of the Hogwarts Governorship Board

Headmaster Dumbledore,

It has recently come to our attention, and yours as well, we hope, that Madam Dolores Umbridge is severely lacking in moral fiber and has been having our students perform questionable acts during their detentions. Lord Malfoy, a member of the Board in his own right, has accused her of using a blood quill for the purposes of writing lines. Not only that, he claims to have seen it with his own eyes, and to have possession of the quill in question.

Given such serious allegations from such a trusted source, we cannot but demand that proper action is to be taken. We, the Governors of Hogwarts, hereby instruct you, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, to remove Doloris Umbridge from her position as Professor and bring her to the Ministry, along with the quill. We have been assured that Mr. Potter, the injured party in this, is willing to place charges.

Handle this, Headmaster. We do not want this to become a full-blown scandal, but do what you must to protect our students. They are our future, and our hope. We cannot simply sit by and watch while the Ministry does its best to crust them under its bureaucratic heel.

Sincerely,

_Lord Conrad Albrecht_

Lord Conrad Albrecht, Head Governor

_One more to go,_ Conrad thought, laying flat the last of the parchment for the letters he had to write.

To: Mr. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic

From: Lord Conrad Albrecht, Head Governor over Hogwarts

Minister,

It has come to our attention that your Madam Umbridge has been acting in a highly unacceptable manner, using blood quills on her students for detentions, and then threatening them with expulsion should they speak out against such treatment.

Such behavior will not be tolerated by our teaching staff, much less by a teacher put in place by _you_, Minister. You will, very shortly, have Headmaster Dumbledore bring Madam Umbridge with him to the public complaints office as well as a representative of the Board, and rest assured that we will be placing charges against her in the name of the school, and in the name of Mr. Harry Potter, who has been observed writing lines for Madam Umbridge with the aforementioned blood quill.

She is no longer a Professor, and we demand that you repeal the edict you passed that allows you to place teachers in the stead of the Headmaster. Should you disagree with our assessment, know that we will not hesitate to make this a public affair and call for a vote of no confidence in you.

Respectfully,

_Lord Conrad Albrecht_

Lord Conrad Albrecht, Head Governor

Folding this letter as well, Conrad brought a small wax melter closer before rummaging around in one of his desk drawers for a new stick of wax. Melting a small amount of wax onto the back of each letter, Albrecht quickly pressed his seal as Head Governor into each dollop of wax, marking each as formal correspondence.

Gathering up the letters, Conrad stepped out of his office and proceeded down the hall towards their owlry. He paused, however, when his wife stepped out of one of the side rooms, a beautiful snowy owl perched on her ungloved hand.

"Who is that gorgeous creature?" Conrad asked.

"I don't know whose it is, but if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that it belongs to Lord Malfoy. She did deliver his letter, after all." Deirdre brought her free hand up and gently stroked Hedwig's breast feathers, eliciting a soft coo.

"Stuck around to pick up any responses, did you?" Conrad asked.

Shaking her head quickly from left to right, as if to clear cobwebs, Hedwig hooted an affirmative, eyeing the letters in his hand lustfully.

"Ah, well then, here you go. The first is returned to Lord Malfoy, the second to Headmaster Dumbledore, and the third is for the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge." Conrad brought the letters up to her, and she grasped them firmly in her mouth.

Turning towards the front door a few steps away, Deirdre opened it, and stepped out into the early morning sunshine, lifting her arm as high as she could.

"Deirdre?" Conrad said cautiously. If the owl was to take off from a hand, she would have to push off, and that would require her to dig her talons in, at least momentarily. His fears were unfounded however, for instead of pushing off of his wife's hand, the owl instead, dropped off of it, wings closed. It wasn't until her talons were clear of his wife's hand, that the owl opened her wings and made, with powerful strokes, into the open air.

"A remarkable bird indeed."

ooOO00OOoo

Dumbledore looked up alertly when Fawkes cooed something at him. "A letter from the Board?" Fawkes cooed again. "Indeed. I've been waiting for this, you know." Moving towards the big stained glass window behind his desk, Dumbledore opened it up just in time for Hedwig to fly through it and land neatly on the back of one of his receiving chairs. Bowing deeply towards the phoenix occupying a place of honor on its perch, Hedwig acknowledged the superiority of the immortal bird to that of a mail owl. Fawkes nodded back gracefully, then both birds turned their attention to the human in the room. Albus waited patiently for the pleasantries to be concluded before stepping towards Hedwig and relieving her of one of her letters.

"Thank you, Hedwig. Would you like a treat before you head off to deliver your last letter? No? Well, then, at lest let me get you a drink of water." Albus drew his wand and made to conjure some when Fawkes hooted from his perch and then scooted over, making room for Hedwig next to him, right in front of the water carrier. "If you'd prefer…" he said, stepping aside so that Hedwig had a clear flight path to the perch.

Crouching slightly, Hedwig launched herself off of the chair and flew at the perch, banking herself to land expertly next to Fawkes without disturbing a paper on the Headmaster's desk. Once again, Albus stepped forward to relieve Hedwig of a letter before she hooted gratefully to both Fawkes and the Headmaster. Dipping her beak into the water, she drank deeply of its coolness before retrieving her last letter from Dumbledore and disappearing back through the open window.

"What a polite owl." The Headmaster commented thoughtfully. "Much like her Wizard, if I am not mistaken."

Fawkes cooed his agreement.

"Lets see what the Board has sent me this time, shall we?"

ooOO00OOoo

Knocking twice in warning, Headmaster Dumbledore stepped into the Professors lounge where his four heads of houses were hashing out their latest idea to keep the two boys together without revealing their true reason for doing so.

"How goes it?" he asked, offering up the pot of tea he brought with him.

"Not so good," Professor Sprout said, "yes, Earl Grey if you would, thank you."

"We keep running up against different problems with each scenario we come up with," Professor Flitwick put in, "English Breakfast if you don't mind, much obliged."

"So far, none of them have been adequate," Professor McGonagall added, "Oolong, Albus? I'm flattered that you remembered."

"Have no fear, Headmaster, we will continue to work until we come up with something, this is our last chance after all." Professor Snape concluded, "…is that coffee? Why on earth would I want to drink that? Give me a good Highlander Tea, or none at all."

The Headmasters eyes just twinkled, then from within the confines of the same tea pot that had poured the other three teas, the rich, oakey smell of the Highlander Tea began to rise. "My apologies, Severus, here you are." Albus said, pouring his Potions Master a new cup. "I have faith in you all, you'll come up with something."

"Not going to stay and have a cup?" Minerva called from where she was nursing her steaming cup of Oolong Tea.

"No, I'm afraid I can't. I just received word from the Governors, they want me to take Madam Umbridge to the Ministry and press charges, and I would rather get that woman out of my school sooner rather then later." Albus set the pot of tea in the center of the table. "Feel free to help yourselves to another in my absence, however."

"What about the boys, Albus?" Filius asked, quietly stirring the smallest amount of milk into his English Breakfast.

"I'm off to see them now, to explain my absence, as well as to relieve Mr. Malfoy of the blood quill that he has apparently confiscated from Madam Umbridge. They'll stay in the Infirmary finishing up the last of the potions Poppy needs, I imagine."

"Well, don't let us keep you." Minerva said.

"Yes, I'd best be off." The Headmaster moved towards the door, before pausing and turning back, as if he'd forgotten something. "Oh, and incidentally, you're in charge while I'm gone, Minerva."

"Yes, Albus, I had assumed that was what my 'Deputy Headmistress' badge was all about, but it is good to have confirmation." Minerva returned with a twist to her lips.

"Yes, yes, but you know it has to be said," Dumbledore looked around the room, at the four people who could very well be shaping the destiny of the rest of the world as they tried to work their way around the sticky problem that had become Misters Draco Malfoy, and Harry Potter. "Good luck to you all."

"Good luck to you as well, Albus."

OoOO00OOoo

"Poppy?" Dumbledore called as he rounded the corner into the Infermary.

"She's not here at the moment, Headmaster," Harry said, stepping up into the doorway of the potions nook, wiping his hands on an ingredients-stained towel. "I can tell her you called for her though, when she returns."

"That is not really necessary, my dear boy, I was really only looking for her because I was hoping she could help me locate you two." Albus stepped more fully into the Infermary and closed the door behind him. "If I might have a word with Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry merely shrugged, and stepped back, out of the way. "He's at the cauldron. Don't know how much you'll get out of him though, he kind of goes in a zone."

"That's perfectly fine."

Crossing the room, Dumbledore placed one hand on Harry's shoulder briefly as he passed by him, a brief gesture of comfort in support for a boy who's world had been torn apart once again and who was, once again, trying his damndest to put it all back together.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Albus said softly, moving towards the other adolescent who was trying to put his topsy-turvey world back together.

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"I need that quill you relieved from Madam Umbridge's possession."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why ever not?" Albus asked, puzzled. Surely the boy knew that the Governors had instructed him to retrieve it from him?

"I've decided that I want to be there when you place the charges against Umbridge. It is my right, and, much as I loath to admit it, it is Potter's right." Here he gestured towards Harry, who was standing, confused by the door. "Besides, you won't be able to place charges against her in his name, if he isn't there in person to do so. And no-one else has come forward as of yet, so you're stuck with bringing him along with you. And," he added bitterly, "where Potter goes, so goes my country." (1)

"How do you propose we explain your presence there?"

"Well, I have officially been accepted by the Head of the Governors as a member of the Board, I see no reason why I can't be there in that capacity. Besides," he added, stirring the potion simmering in front of him once more before extinguishing the flame and allowing it to cool, "I _am_ the one that called for the vote of no confidence in the Toad."

Seating himself in the seat recently vacated by Harry, Professor Dumbledore retrieved a Muggle sweet called a 'taffy' and munched thoughtfully on it as he considered Draco's words.

"Very well, you have brought up some very good points, and I can see that you will not be dissuaded, even if you hadn't. You and Mr. Potter may accompany me to the Ministry of Magic so that we may get this detestable woman out of my school as soon as absolutely possible."

"You mean that we get to go to the Ministry and watch her get punished for what she's done to me?"

"Yes, Potter, that's what this conversation is about, get with the program already."

Ignoring Draco's jibe, Harry simply waited for the Headmaster to respond.

"Yes, my dear boy, that's what this means."

"Yes!" Harry cried, jumping up in the air and doing a strange twist so that he turned three hundread and sixty degrees before landing again. "I am so ready for this!"

Despite himself, the Headmaster chuckled. "Well then, we mustn't keep our dear Defense Professor waiting, must we?"

ooOO00OOoo

(1) Okay, so for those of you who looked at that line, and cocked your head to side saying, 'isn't that familiar?' chances are that you're right. Well, if you're American at least. (Are my roots showing? How embarrassing…) this line is very similar to one said by Ozz in 'Buffy the vampire slayer' in it, Ozz says, 'as Willow goes, so goes my country.' I just couldn't resist. Call me a geek, and we'll leave it at that.

So, once again I have vastly underated how long my chapters will be. Why don't I just give up now, and admit that they're going to be about as long as Dumbledore's beard? I was hoping to get to about twice as much information, but the chapter just kept growing, and I still hadn't covered it all. Eventually I had to cut it off at the knees, before it turned into a real monster and ate my computer. That would be a true tragedy, no? Ah well, I'm off! Tootles!


End file.
